Last Goodbyes
by Gandalf3213
Summary: Harry goes back for the Resurrection Ring and decides that everyone has someone to say goodbye to. He circulates the ring around. Some people call on the obvious ones, others call back those who you would least expect. Chap. 33 - the End
1. Harry

**A/N: Personal background here -- I wrote this more for me than anyone else. Sorry. My brother's pretty sick and we've been spending a lot of time in and out of hospitals. He's not getting better so...Anyway, there probably won't be another chapter for a couple weeks, but I really like this story. **

**PS – I don't own Harry. If I did, I would have made sure Fred didn't die.**

Harry fingered the small object in his hand, weighing his options. There were so many people he'd like to see alive again. Sirius...Lupin...Dumbledore. Leaning close, he whispered a name to the ring. And waited.

James Potter sat on the end of Harry's bed, staring at him. His eyes were wide behind glasses shaped just like Harry's. But his eyes were hazel. But his hair, his hands, his face. All identical to Harry's own. Except for the scar.

Harry looked at his father, feeling a lump rise in his throat. What do you say to a man you hadn't met? Who was your father? It brought the complication of conversation to a new level.

"How are you, Harry?" James' voice permeated the still air like a gunshot, even though the words were spoken softly. Harry cringed at the sound of the voice. His voice. It was younger than he had expected. He tried to remind himself that his father had only been a few years older than he was when he had died.

"I'm feeling pretty lousy, actually." It was the truth. He was staying at the Burrow now, which had become almost an army station, filled with the wounded and families with nowhere to go. There were people camped outside and in the fields beyond the house, everyone having the same impulse to gather together. Harry had managed to sneak in the attic where the ghoul had been moved once again. He couldn't be around people, even Ron or Hermione or Ginny, who were downstairs being useful. Every time he looked at someone who had been injured in the battle he felt guilty. It was his fault...all his fault.

James squeezed Harry's hand. "You did the right thing, son. I'm so proud of you." The words fell deliberately, slowly, the same way Lupin or Hagrid would have said them. This was the only thing that could have made Harry meet his father's eyes.

James smiled at him sadly, his eyes roaming over Harry's face as if he was trying to take it all in at once. "I've missed so much...sixteen years. What's happened in all that time?"

"Don't you know?" The words came out before Harry could stop them. He'd always imagined his parents watching over him, omnipresent guardian angels watching his every move. Keeping him safe.

James raised an eyebrow. "Well, I know the basics from Sirius." He smiled a little when he said his best friend's name. "World events and all. But what about you? Your life? It can't all have been about Voldemort."

Harry couldn't answer this. He didn't know what answer to give his father. How do you sum up a whole life into sentences or paragraphs? When Harry didn't answer James pressed him smiling slightly. "Just before you called me here there was this massive onslaught of people dead from the battle. Moony was there ― married! Who would have thought that? ― anyway, he brought with him this lost looking red-head who couldn't have been that much older than you. He must have recognized me and he said something about you and his sister..."

A slow, mischievous grin spread across James' face. Harry wanted to laugh. The first thing Fred said when he saw Harry's father was to tell him about him and Ginny. The laugh died inside him when he realized that Fred had to actually die in order to tell James that.

Clearing his throat, Harry forced himself to speak, trying to start at the beginning. "Ginny ― Ginny Weasley ―" His father nodded in recognition. The Weasleys must be popular in heaven. "She's the little sister of my best mate. Ron." And before he could stop himself he launched into a "cliff-notes" version of what had happened to him in sixteen years.

"So Hagrid picked me up from the Dursleys. Well, a lot of things happened that night, including him giving Dudley a pig tail, but that's when I first learned I was a wizard. I went to Platform 9¾ in September and met the Weasleys." He smiled at the memory. "They're the nicest people I've ever met, dad." He stopped suddenly, realizing his dad was staring at him with a kind of painful intensity that he felt quite embarrassed. "What?"

James reached out, his hand landing on Harry's shoulder. A rush of emotions ran through the young boy, first and foremost among them being _love_. Unconditional, unquestioning love. The kind of love that Harry had never been given in his life. "You are just like your mother." James said quietly, brushing Harry's too-long hair away from his face, making the tangled mess even worse.

Feeling lost, Harry struggled for words. "Well...what about her?" he asked, wanting more than anything to know. A rush of thoughts poured out of him, fueled by the knowledge that he would never, ever be able to get this conversation again. "How did you meet? What did she look like? I know a lot of stuff about you from Sirius and Lupin, but I know almost nothing about _her_."

James stared at Harry for a second, "Okay. I'll tell you about your mother if you promise to tell me about your friends. Deal?"

Harry nodded eagerly, sitting back against the old bed. Downstairs, there were yells of grief or excitement, calls for lost friends or siblings. But it all seemed unimportant to Harry. So as the Wizarding World struggled to heal from one of the greatest battles in centuries, Harry continued to listen.

"Your mother...she was an extraordinary woman. Smart -- brilliantly smart. She had a special knack for Potions and wand work." James' face became softer, somewhat, when he talked about his wife. Harry reminded himself that the two were still newlyweds at the time of their death. Younger than Bill and Fleur were now.

"She loved everything, everyone. One of her friends was a house-elf named Pip. And everyone loved her." James sighed contentedly. "She was beautiful, of course. Red hair, green eyes. Not unlike the vixen you've supposedly gotten for yourself." James winked and Harry felt blood rush to his face. He had to constantly remind himself that this was his _father_. "And sweet. And kind. But she had a temper. She yelled at me a good few times, and she always seemed to be storming off somewhere when she didn't approve of something I did. Though, to tell you the truth, there was a lot of things she didn't approve of."

"Like becoming an animgous?" Harry asked.

"No. She was actually all for that. She helped with a lot of it." James leaned forward, his glasses glinting in the light of the bare bulb that illuminated the room. "Do you know why my animagous was a stag?" he asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. His patronus had been a stag even before he had known that that was the animal his father had chosen to turn into. But he had never known _why_ James had picked that animal. "It was because Lily's patronus was a doe. A beautiful white doe."

Everything clicked then. And not just about his parents. Not for the first time, Harry had to re-evaluate his view of Snape. The patronus...Snape must have been deeply in love with his mother.

"I've told you enough." James said. "And frankly, Harry, I don't know how long I can stay here. It's rather uncomfortable being in-between like this."

Harry nodded slowly. "Okay. My friends? You wanted to know about them, right?" James nodded, and Harry began speaking, slowly at first, then picking up speed.

"Well, there's Ron. Ron Weasley. He's...well, he's my best mate. Has been since first year. We hit it off on the train, see? He seemed to know more than me that first year, mostly because he grew up with wizards and I grew up with the Dursleys. I stayed with his family before second year, and they're all...great. They've helped me so much. And Ron...I couldn't have done any of it without him."

James nodded, and Harry could see it in his face. James' friends -- Sirius, Lupin, and even Peter -- had all been important to him growing up.

"Then there's Hermione. She's the cleverest in our year. She basically got us -- me and Ron, that it -- through the whole thing with the Sorcerer's Stone. Got us past all the teacher's spells and curses _as a first year_. Yeah, she's brilliant. Never got Quidditch though. Did you know I'm a Seeker? But she never went for the game, not until Ron made Keeper. She and Ron have liked each other for ages. It was quite funny, actually."

Looking out at the campfires made by the several hundred people around the house, Harry knew he had to talk about one more person. "And Ginny. She's Ron's sister, the only girl out of seven. I think that made her tougher. She has a mean bat-bogey hex. Ginny's amazingly beautiful. Red-headed, like mum, I guess." Harry paused a moment, deciding. "I think I love her."

James touched Harry's hand. Startled, Harry looked at him. He was almost transparent now, like the ghosts at school. "What's happening?" Harry asked quietly.

"I have to go know, son." Was Harry imagining it, or was James' voice more gruff, as if he was trying to hold back tears. "But I love you, Harry. Remember that. Your mother and I both love you so much."

"Dad?" Harry stood up off the bed, wand out, not knowing quite what to do. His father was almost gone know, his glasses and hair trailing behind the rest of him. "Dad!"

But he was gone.

Sitting on the bed, Harry fingered the ring. He wouldn't use it again -- he couldn't. Yet. Thinking carefully, Harry made his way back down the stairs, ignoring the howling of the ghoul behind him.

He carefully placed the ring on the bed, scrawling a hasty note so George would know what to do with it.

**I figure this story might go one for a while. George next, of course, and then...who? I think it should circulate around to people. Any ideas?**

**As always, please review.**


	2. George

"_What would we want to be Prefects for?" asked George. Looking revolted at the very idea."It would take all the fun out of life."_

George didn't see the paper or the ring for three days.

He had been…angry. Angry at the battle itself, and Voldemort, even angry at Fred and Harry and anyone else even remotely involved in the battle. But mostly he had been confused and scared. He had never in his life been apart from Fred for more than a few days.

Once, when they were younger, their mother had thought that the twins should be separated for the summer. She had been concerned -- they were four. They talked mostly to each other. They pulled pranks even then. She had sent Fred off to Aunt Muriel's and George to Uncle Bilius. George, who had an infinitely more interesting guardian, had been so upset about being away from Fred that he did not smile. He didn't eat, or sleep. He cried. Within a week his uncle, not knowing what to do, had gone to get Fred. As it turned out, Fred had been doing the same things with their aunt. Their mother didn't try to separate them again.

George hadn't been able to be apart from his brother then. He couldn't do it now. Everyone marveled at how close they were -- how they finished each other sentences and knew exactly what the other was thinking. They were closer than brothers -- closer even than most twins. They had been two parts of the same person.

And now one of those parts was gone.

In a fit of depression and anger, George had tried to kill himself. He wasn't proud of it, and thinking back to the event made him feel violently ill. Luckily, Lee had been with him and stopped him before he did anything permanent. But then Lee had also sent him home. "Go back to the Burrow." Were his words, "I'll watch his body. Go to sleep."

Lee had also said he was sorry. Again. Come to think it, Lee hadn't looked great either. But George was too caught up in his own emotions to realize that anyone other than him could possibly be grieving for Fred.

When he saw the paper, three days after it was put there by Harry, he picked it up without really caring what it was. He actually sat on the ring.

_George_, (The letter said)

_I don't know if I can ever make it all up to you. I can't even apologize. But this might help, if only a little bit. You probably know more about it than I did. _

_It's called the Resurrection Stone. You probably heard of it in "The Tale of the Three Brothers" as a kid. It works. I used it already. _

_Maybe it will help if you talk to him. Just remember you're going to have to let him go. _

_Harry_

"Prat." George muttered absently. He didn't blame Harry at all. But his hand closed around the ring, and something fluttered in his chest. He hadn't felt anything for three days, but if this was what Harry said it was….

The Burrow was too loud. There were wounded, displaced families, anyone who needed a place to stay were in and around the small house. By looking out the window George could see dozens of fires set next to tents. Taking the ring, he put it and the note in his jeans pocket. Then he Disapperated.

He and Fred had abandoned Weasley's Wizard Wheezes after it had been set upon by Death Eaters for the second time, choosing instead to travel with Lee and air Potter Watch. They hadn't cleaned up the shop from the last attack, but at least it was quiet.

George sat on an overturned chair, unable to bring himself to either go up to the loft, which hadn't been attacked, or clear a space to sit. His hands shook as he withdrew the ring.

A whisper, and George flung his hope into the air. It was impossible -- a terrible joke. Nothing could bring him back…

Then Fred was in front of him, standing there, a mirror of George, plus an ear. They stared at each other for a second before Fred reached out, pulling George into a tentative embrace, then holding him more firmly. "Are you really there, George?"

"I was going to ask you that." George muttered, his words muted by Fred's shirt. His whole body was shaking now, though he wasn't crying. He was smiling by the time Fred let go of him.

Looking at his brother, George wondered why he expected Fred to look different. He wore a clean Weasley sweater -- a large letter **G** was on the front. His red hair was still messy. Every one of his freckles were still there.

"I missed you." George was surprised by his brother's words. Weren't there enough people in heaven or wherever Fred was? But until that moment, George hadn't remembered that Fred had lost something too. "At first, it was dark. Really dark. I knew I was…that I wasn't alive anymore, but I didn't know where I was. I half expected to see you --" Fred stopped for a moment, unable to meet George's eyes.

"I know." His voice was thick and the words were small as if it had taken a lot of energy to push them past the barrier of his throat. "I always thought that too."

Fred continued, his voice tripping, his hand firm in George's as if he, too, couldn't bear to pull away. "Then it all opened up -- everything was bright, clear. There were people. Oh -- I was here. In Diagon Alley. In the shop." His eyes looked around the small room. "It was cleaner there. Huh. Guess I should've helped you clean up before…"

"We didn't know." George excused quickly, falling into the plural easily. That was another thing he'd miss -- saying _we, _and _us_ instead of _me_ and _I_.

"People started coming in, most of them as lost as I was. A lot of kids from the battle. That bloke Cedric -- remember him? Little Colin Creevey. Oh, and Dumbledore. He wasn't too happy I was there. Believe, me, I wasn't happy either. And right behind him -- you won't believe it, George -- was Lupin and Sirius, coming in laughing with Harry's dad, and Tonks and his mum are right behind them. So we got to talking, and that's when I figured out you weren't going to be there for a while."

George's hand felt suddenly cold inside Fred's, as if the other man had suddenly turned to stone. He pulled his hand away. "You weren't the only one who was lost, Fred." George muttered.

Fred looked at him, compassion and regret laced in his features. "Oh, I know. I know." They embraced again.

Part of the reason why George always thought his heart would stop beating when Fred's did was because of _this_. The understanding that went beyond words, the knowledge that there was another person who completely understood what you were trying to say -- they had been so lucky. They had been born together. Some people waited their whole lives and never got someone like that.

"What am I going to do?" George's words were soft, but they rang through the room, seemed to echo in the overturned boxes and jars.

Fred put a hand on his shoulder. Most people saw the twins as cocky, confident. Only George had ever seen Fred like this -- indecisive and unsure. Fred bit his lip. "I -- I could stay. For a little while."

Something in this sentence, in what it implied, struck George as wrong. "No. You can't." He hurried on, explaining to himself why this couldn't happen -- because he so wanted it to. "It was in the story, Fred. You're in-between now. Maybe it doesn't hurt yet, but it will. You can't do that for me."

"But I want to." Fred was always stubborn, and now his face was set, his eyes filling with tears of passionate outrage. "It's not fair! We're supposed to do all this together!" His anger left as quickly as it had come and he seemed deflated in George's arms. "I don't know." It wasn't an answer. It was an evasion.

There were so many parts to George's question. What would he do with the shop? What would he do about the next days -- Fred's funeral, the other funerals. What about the other Weasleys? What would George do without Fred?

"I want to help." Fred said finally. "I won't leave you by yourself, George. I'll find a way." His hand ghosted over the hole that was all that was left of George's ear. "You don't deserve this." A statement, a wish, a sign of defeat.

Suddenly George couldn't bear the thought of losing Fred. Not again. Something in him was telling him that they had to end this, and soon, but he resisted. Burying his face in his brother's shirt, he said, quietly. "I never got to say goodbye."

"I love you." Fred replied, his voice heavy with emotion. No sign of a joke or jest, no one-liners or quips. Simple, but so much more because of that. "I didn't want to leave, George."

"I didn't want to say goodbye."

"Then don't." Fred pulled away, face set, determined in a way that reminded George of the old Fred. The living Fred. "Don't say goodbye yet. Maybe we can pull a prank on Death."

"Maybe." George mused. They were further apart now, only their hands intertwined.

"Clean up this mess. Lee won't like it." They stared at each other, four identical eyes meeting each other. "Tell them all I miss them. Make sure Perce knows he's forgiven. Give Ginny a hug and make sure she marries You-Know-Who."

Only one of their hands was touching now. George's heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst out and accompany Fred to wherever he was going.

"I'll find a way, George." Only their fingers touched. George worked on getting his words unstuck.

"I love you." They both said at the same time, those three words holding a million hidden ones. They both smirked exactly the same way. Then, with George watching, making sure to catch every glimpse he could, Fred was gone.

George hadn't cried in three days. He hadn't cried when he realized Fred was dead. He hadn't cried while sitting next to his body. Now, as he moved quietly around the shop, he realized that the tears would not stop. They pooled on his cheeks, dripping onto the floor, a million unanswered questions.

They hadn't said goodbye. If anyone could pull one over on Death, it would be Fred and George, Mischief Makers.

Later that night, early the next morning, George carefully entered the Burrow. He crept into his sister's room and watched her for a second, wondering when her hair had gotten so long, when her face had gotten so sad. He placed the Ring and a carefully written note next to her bed.

He would thank Harry in the morning, then he'd ask his sister who she spoke to. And he'd be waiting, watching, hoping that Fred could pull off the ultimate prank.

**The twins so deserved a happier ending than the one they got. I try to make them suffer the least amount possible. Plus, I think Fred would be just as upset dying as George would be having him dead.**

**Anyway, please review.**


	3. Ginny

"_If there's one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it's love." __**Dumbeldore**_

Ginny spent two weeks with the ring in her pocket.

When she first woke up, she knew what it was even before she read the note. Harry had spent a whole night sitting in her bed telling her…everything. The last thing he said was that he loved her.

But of course she read the note anyway, because she was insanely curious, even though there was no doubt in her mind of who George would say goodbye to.

_Gin, _

_You probably know what this is, if you and your lover spent any time together (has anyone given you that talk, by the way? I talked to Percy, but he said Charlie gave it to you, but Charlie said Bill, who said me and Fred, for some reason. We thought it was Ron. You have no idea how lucky you are -- me and Fred had Bill, Charlie, _and_ Perce read us the riot act right before fourth year. Bill's very descriptive.)_

_It works, Ginny. I wouldn't be giving it to you if it didn't. Two pieces of advice, though, in all seriousness (well, in half seriousness, we've been serious for too long, don't you think?). Remember that you'll have to give them back. Remember that not everything in life will disappoint you. _

_Marry him, Ginny, or I will. _

_I'm not kidding,_

_George. _

Ginny kept the note in her pocket too. Even after she gave up the Ring (because, even though the letter didn't mention it, she knew there were a lot of people who had to say goodbye) she kept the letter, because it was so…George.

There were a few reasons for waiting two weeks. One was the funerals…there were so many of them. First and foremost was Fred, of course. Ginny couldn't even go there in her thoughts yet. Maybe one day she'd be able to think of her brother without feeling like she suddenly couldn't breathe. She couldn't imagine how many hundred times worse it must be for George.

But it wasn't just Fred. Lupin and Tonks were both buried. In the years she had known them, she had never known kinder people, or people more suited for each other. She and Tonks had bonded about unanswered loves one summer night. They'd been close ever since.

Even past that, there were so many dead…Colin Creevey, who had always been very nice to Ginny, and Justin Finch-Fletchly. Mad-Eye. Dobby. Snape.

She spent the better part of the two weeks with Hermione, Fleur, and her mother as they tried to reunite the families that had been scattered by the events of the past year. In a special project that took almost ten days of solid searching, she managed to locate Dean Thomas's mother and sisters. She stood there for the reunion, basking in the feeling of being happy again.

And then, of course, there was Harry. Harry, who she hadn't seen for a year. Harry, how made her blush and run out of the room six years ago. Harry, who could smile at her and make her feel like they were the only two people in the whole world. Harry, who understood her.

Who said he loved her.

Maybe it wasn't so odd that when Ginny found herself with a night alone in a quiet part of Grimwald Place (which was where she, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and assorted other students were staying during the chaotic summer) she took out the ring and whispered a very special name into it. Maybe it was. Either way, a second later sat a beautiful red-headed woman who was not much older than Ginny.

It was her eyes that gave her away. People said it all the time, but, "Harry really does have your eyes."

Lily Potter smiled warmly, placing a pale hand over Ginny's freckled one that lay on the bedspread. Her hand was warm. "You…you must be the famous Ginny Weasley."

Ginny blushed. She knew that she was famous by association. Her boyfriend was Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding World. Her brother was his best friend. "I'm not that famous." Ginny muttered.

Lily raised an eyebrow and her green eyes glinted brighter. "Aren't you? Do you know that I spend many nights with your brother? He's lonely, I think. No one to talk to. Of course, James and Lupin and Sirius are marvelous when it comes to boosting morale."

"He's not usually like that." Ginny said, though she had to speak past a lump in her throat. It would always hurt to talk about him. Always.

Lily nodded like she understood, and Ginny found herself squirming. She barely knew this person. Though Harry spoke of his parents often, Ginny knew that Harry himself was frustrated by how little he knew of them. And Ginny was going to this person for advice. "I actually…I really wanted to talk to you about Harry."

Lily leaned forward, smiling. "I haven't gotten to see him, though James has been bragging. You should see him carrying on. 'Looks just like me' he always says, 'except where he looks exactly like you.' Helpful, isn't he?"

Laughing, Ginny nodded, feeling at ease. "He does look a lot like his dad, apparently. But…" she hesitated, not knowing how much Lily knew. "Do you…did you know...?" how do you put this?

Fortunately, Lily took the matter out of her hands. "Did I know that you were in love with him? Yes. Someone must have told me somewhere. From what I hear, you are an intelligent, brave young woman."

Ginny never knew how to respond to praise. Growing up the youngest of seven, there was never much time to be anything but daring. You did whatever you could to stick out. "I'm not brave. More reckless, really. My brother, Ron, he's brave." Ha, like she'd ever say _that_ while he was in the room. "You're brave." Of course, everyone knew how Harry had survived the killing curse. His mother had given her life to save his.

Lily was patient. She waited as Ginny attempted to get her thoughts in order. "I actually wanted your…blessing. I -- I want to marry Harry."

Perhaps Lily would be the only woman in the world to smile at this bold announcement. "How old are you?" she asked, not an accusation, but a question.

"Sixteen. Almost seventeen."

"Just about Harry's age." Lily mused. "Just about my age, too, when I fell in love with Harry's father. We got married when we were eighteen." She looked sadly out the dark window. "Died when we were twenty-one." It didn't seem as if she were waiting for a response to this. She was merely stating facts.

_The last enemy that shall be defeated is Death_. Wasn't that on the Potter's tomb? Who had told her that?

Staring straight at Ginny, green eyes met brown. "I cannot think of anyone better suited for my son, Ginny Weasley, and I will be proud to call you my daughter. Or would be. But I want to know why you're doing this so hastily."

There were so many answers to this. First and foremost in Ginny's mind was _because then he'll be mine. Because he won't ask me himself_. What came out of her mouth was, "Because I want people to be happy again."

She hadn't even realized she thought this, but it was completely true. She wanted Hermione to smile when Ron kissed her. She wanted George to tell a joke. She wanted Luna and Neville, who were living with them, to stop being so grim, because it was freaking her out. She wanted Harry to laugh when he hugged her, so that she could feel him in her chest. She wanted to stop bursting into tears every day.

Lily understood. Ginny could see a glimmer of something in her eyes as she reached forward to run a hand across Ginny's cheek. "I don't pretend to know all the answers." She admitted quietly. "I could be your sister -- you're not that much younger than me. I do know some things, though. I know that sometimes you _can _always get what you want. I know that those things can be gone in a heartbeat."

Ginny listened, committing the words to memory so she'd remember them forever. "I know that everyone has lost something this past year. I know that Harry loves you more than anyone on Earth." She tilted Ginny's chin up so they were equals. "I know that you shouldn't get married right now."

Maybe it was because she was being told exactly what needed to be done. Because for the first time in a year someone else was taking charge. Maybe it was because she had had so many emotions wash over her in the past days, weeks, months. It probably had something to do with Fred and Lupin and Tonks. It probably had something to do with her heart, and what was broken, and Harry. Ginny found herself lying on the dead chest of her boyfriend's mother, only four small years older than herself. She found herself crying.

She found warm, comforting arms settle around her, heard a sigh. She knew that it had been sixteen years since Lily had held something helpless, something like a child. She thought that maybe her mentor was getting something out of this, too.

"I want to see the wedding." Lily murmured into Ginny's head. Two colors of red hair intertwined as they came together, clutching desperately, unwilling and unable to let go.

"I want to see my brother." Ginny cried, just as desperately, probably childishly. She had spent two weeks with bottled-up emotions, because she knew that everyone was feeling the exact same way. She couldn't cry at the funeral, because who was she, really? George stood next to the casket, a faint grin on his face, and if he wasn't crying, he, who had been half of who Fred really was, why should she, Ginny, shed tears? But now…now she wanted to be fifteen again, and desperately in love with her brother's best friend. That was simpler.

She felt her hair being smoothed back in a way that reminded her of apples and wishes and childhood. "You'll see him soon, honey. You hear about his plan?" she answered her own question. "Of course you haven't, so maybe I'd better not spoil it. He's a stubborn one, I'll give him that." Lily leaned forward, and Ginny found she fit exactly in her arms.

"You marry my son, honey, because I cannot think of anyone better suited for the job. But do it for the right reasons. Do it for you."

A light kiss on her forehead, a promise, and Ginny found herself alone, crying, in an empty room.

The next morning, Ginny came out of her room smiling and woke Harry up with a kiss.

**Review?**


	4. Neville

_"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." **Dumbledore.**_

He didn't think it would work, so he tried to forget about the small object that seemed to get heavier with each passing day.

Once, Neville found himself alone with Ginny in one of the many empty rooms Grimwald Place housed. He opened his mouth, about to ask, when he thought better of it, and instead asked her about Harry.

Though he might have changed over the past year, on the inside, Neville was still a coward.

It was better with Harry. He suspected it was because he was naturally nervous around girls (which was true. How else did you explain the fact that he was sharing the house with Luna and _still_ hadn't said anything remotely flirtatious to her?) He got up to asking about the Ring when Harry smiled, clapped him on the back, said "good luck" and left the room in a hurry.

George wasn't much better. Neville volunteered to go with Ron to help set up the shop mid-July. The reasons behind this were twofold. One was to ask about the Ring -- he wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn't going to face disappointment. The other was to see Fred.

He had come back one night in July, shoving the occupants of the one picture in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes out of the way before bellowing at the top of his lungs, if the story was to be believed. Lee Jordan, who was currently rooming with George, had been nearest, and was the first one coming. Supposedly, it had taken a while for George to be able to drag himself away from the portrait, which was now hung over the counter in the joke shop.

When Neville entered the shop he tripped over a cage of Pygmy Puffs, scattering the creatures and causing four red-heads to yell at him. Lee helped Percy Weasley with the re-capturing of the pets while Ron laughed loudly, extending a hand to help Neville to his feet.

The next half-hour was spent in a virtual duel with Fred. Neville, always wary of the Weasley twins (they had tested their products on him more than once) was fascinated by the portrait. It was, without a doubt, Fred Weasley inside, not just a copy. Did that mean that anyone could conquer death if they just tried hard enough?

The thought left Neville glum as he sorted through enormous, haphazard piles of paperwork (the only Weasleys with any head for numbers, or so they claimed, were the girls, and they refused to even _look_ at the piles that were threatening to take over the shop). The work was tedious and would have been boring if he were any place other than the shop.

Fred and George kept up a constant stream of chatter that often caused Neville to burst out laughing (nothing was more amusing that seeing the small picture of Fred standing fighter-style, coaxing Ron to fight him). It was obvious that the two were happy to be together again.

It was after dark when Neville was finally alone with the twins. Lee, Percy, and Ron had gone to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink and some news. George had, inexplicably, stayed behind, though Fred had cajoled Lee into carrying the picture with him.

George sat on the counter, leaning back so his shoulders seemed thinner than ever, sticking out above his head. He swung his legs, surveying his less-disarrayed shop. His voice was quiet, almost gentle, when he asked, "You got the Ring, didn't you?"

Neville could only nod, mute.

"And you don't know if it will work on your parents." Not a question, a statement. Neville simply stared, wondering when the boy had become clairvoyant. "And you don't want to be disappointed if you tried and it didn't work."

Finding his voice, Neville managed a strangled, "yeah."

George sighed, and Neville remembered, suddenly, that the twins were only twenty. They usually seemed so much older. "I don't know how I can give you advice, Nev, but I'll try. Getting to talk to Fred was one of the best things I've ever done, but it paid off more than I expected it to." He smiled, a true smile, not the ghost of one that had been present just weeks ago. "So all I can say is…try. If it doesn't work, I'm truly sorry." His voice grew softer now, and compassionate, and Neville stared, wondering where this Weasley had come from. "You're very brave. I don't think I could have taken over the DA and opposed the Carrows. You deserve to talk to your father, Neville."

Neville nodded, feeling something stick in his throat. "I don't know how crowded Grimwald Place is, but I'm going to the Leaky Cauldron. You're welcome to the rooms here. Just lock up and join us later." A trademark wink, and the softer George was gone.

Neville waited for the door to swing shut behind George before collapsing back on the chair he'd been sitting in all day.

The Ring called on the dead. Technically, his parents hadn't passed into that realm yet. Their bodies were still present. But maybe…if their minds, their _souls_ had already died…maybe.

A deep breath, as if about to jump into a lake, and he whispered the name of a man he'd never really gotten to know.

Time stretched, large as a wish. Fragile as one, too, and Neville began to feel a clawing despair settle into his stomach. What if it didn't work?

"Son?" Neville turned and faced his father. For a moment, they stared at each other.. Neville had only known his as a sort of half-man. A vegetable, old and decrepit even though his age, at present, wasn't even forty. When Frank Longbottom's mind had deserted his body, it couldn't have been much older than twenty, for that's how his father appeared now. Dark hair and tall, lean body showed this man to be in the peak of health.

And when they hugged, Neville could feel that he was strong as well.

"Dad." He'd been wishing since he was a boy to be able to say that word. His grandmother, though strict at times, had been an excellent guardian. Though she had told Neville many stories of his father's youth, she wasn't quite able to bring the man to life.

Now here he was, solid in Neville's arms, definitely there. "I am so _proud_ of you, son." And Neville smiled.

They sat side-by-side on the floor. "I've heard most of your life story from your Great Uncle Algie. Came to me as soon as he died. We had a lot of drinks that night. He said he's sorry for dropping you, by the way."

Neville laughed, though his hand automatically strayed to his hip, where the scar from his hundred-foot-drop was still visible all these years later. "But tell me of your life now. Any friends? Girlfriends?" Frank wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Neville reminded himself that his father was, roughly, the same age as the Weasley twins. Almost his age.

"Well…" biting his lip, he couldn't stop the whole story from spilling out. Everything. "You've probably heard of the DA by now, right?" he waited for his father to nod. "Harry started that, him and Ron and Hermione, but last year…" he outlined the past year for his father. The Carrows and their punishments. The small force of mainly younger kids, doing their best to rebel against them. Luna.

"You'd like her dad. Or, I think you would." Suddenly shy, Neville realized he didn't really knew _what_ his dad liked. "She's pretty, of course, but that's not the half of it. She's a little eccentric -- she believes in Nargles and Crumple-Horned-Snorkaxes. But she's really brave and really smart. She was captured and held at the Malfoy's place for three months and hasn't changed a bit."

It wasn't until he spoke out loud that Neville realized how much he liked and admired Luna. He smiled widely, knowing he must look like a maniac. He _loved_ Loony Lovegood. Lovegood and Longbottom.

Frank smiled, placing a hand over Neville's. "She sounds great, Neville. I hope she makes you as happy as your mother made me."

That brought up what Neville really wanted to know about his father. Though Augusta Longbottom had nothing against Neville's mother, she didn't talk about her in nearly as much length as she did about his mother. "How…how's mum? Now? And…before she died?"

"We're both happy, son. The afterlife is starting to fill up with some of our old friends. The Marauders -- they were popular, you know. In my year too. Your mum wished she could see you, of course, but she understands, and I'll tell her all about you." Frank reached over and mussed Neville's already unruly hair. "How handsome you're becoming."

"Earlier…we were in love, Nev. I loved her since we were both fourteen, and when we both decided to become Aurors, it seemed like fate." He looked past Neville, as if he could see into the past. "She was beautiful -- still is. And smart. And brave." He smirked at Neville. "Sounds an awful lot like your Luna, right?" Neville turned red, and Frank laughed.

It was much later when Neville made his way to the pub at the end of Diagon Alley. He caught George's eye and nodded, prompting the Weasley to call out another order of drinks for all present.

Walking past another red-head, Neville dropped the Ring and a note into his pocket, knowing he'd find it when he needed it.

**Just realized I didn't mention this, though it's a minor point. Neville knows who had the ring because they all wrote their notes on the same paper. **

**As always, please review.**


	5. Draco

"_You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know what I've done." __**Draco Malfoy**_

Draco Malfoy opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron and let himself into the small bar.

Taking the now-familiar steps, he went to the cupboard near the back of the room and extracted a mop and bucket. He would have to wipe down the main area before the residents of the inn woke up.

It wasn't daybreak yet, but the eighteen-year-old found comfort in the smooth rhythm of the sliding mop as he puttered around the room. It even lulled him enough to think of the things he'd been repressing for two months now.

His mother and father were both in prison. They hadn't been able to escape the pile of evidence against them, supported by dozens of now-confident witnesses. In her parting words, Narcissa Malfoy had begged her only son to flee, to disappear into the masses of the Wizarding World.

Draco had always loved his mother. Pocketing a small bag of galleons, he had left the house he'd grown up in. He had gotten the first job that presented itself --- the Leaky Cauldron was getting over-crowded. Wizards were coming back from hiding to find their residences burned. It had become a halfway house.

Picking up a rag, Draco wiped down a mirror and looked at his new reflection. He'd never get used to it.

Technically, Draco was a wanted criminal. On the run. He had clumsily changed his appearance the first time he could, altering it permanently with different spells. His once narrow face was more full and a darker, olive shade. His hair was longer than he'd ever worn it; chestnut colored and tied back in a ponytail. He'd even changed his eyes to a dark, moss green.

He was no longer Draco Malfoy either. Here he was simply Ben.

And…this was the oddest part of his new identity…people seemed to _like_ him. Tom, the ancient bar man, had taken him under his wing in a way and supplied him with lodgings. The small bedroom wasn't a fourth of the size of his own at Malfoy Manor, but it was more of a home than that house had ever been. Girls were flirting with him. Nice girls that used to look as if they'd like to spit on him before. Or run away.

And…maybe this was the oddest part. Draco seemed to like himself better, too. It wasn't until the overbearing presence was gone that Draco realized how much he had been trying to impress…everyone. He had to live up to his name, and make first his dad, then Snape, then the Dark Lord proud. Or at least a little impressed, he wasn't entirely certain the Dark Lord was capable of an emotion as human as pride. All of his idols but one had let him down completely.

The sun was inching higher into the sky, shining through the windows that were less grimy than they had been the day Draco had started working. He was almost ready to start preparing the food and drink that was always wanted first thing in the morning.

It wasn't until this last time around that he noticed the coat. It couldn't really even be called a coat, more an assortment of brightly-colored patches. He took one look at it and snorted in a superior, Malfoy-like way. A Weasley coat. Those blood-traitors (for they still _were_ blood-traitors) were always in and out of the old pub. There were even stories --- wild stories, more rumors than anything --- that the dead twin had come back. Draco didn't believe them. He had enough training in the Dark Arts to know that death was one of the few things that was utterly irreversible.

With a sigh, he lifted the coat from the back of the chair. The ring made a definite _thud_ as it dropped to the ground. He picked it up, not really interested in it, and placed it back in the pocket. It was then that he found the note.

Draco read it eagerly, his eyebrows coming together as he took in what it meant. Everything seemed to click in his mind --- the Weasleys, the Ring, the battle. His lips formed a silent _O_ as he examined the Ring hungrily.

He'd wished for…too long…that he could have one more night. To say goodbye. To tie up loose ends. To ask forgiveness. He closed his fist over the ring. He had changed in the past two months. He had lost a fortune and gained some humility. He had friends. He was growing up.

But was it enough?

Casting a furtive glance at the clock, Draco sat on the counter and whispered the name that had meant so much to him.

He appeared, standing in the room with a look of cool indifference that had always surpassed even Draco's best impression. Snape didn't seem to have suffered in death, indeed he looked even more regal and stately. Taller, more imposing, long hair greased back as always, he showed the faintest bit of either a smirk or a smile as he gazed at Malfoy.

For a second, Draco thought Snape wouldn't be able to recognize him. Why should he? He looked completely different. But that smirk….it was so familiar.

"They're talking about nothing else, those filthy Marauders, but I didn't believe it was true." His voice was soft, a hiss, aloof. "So it does work."

"I guess." For a second, Draco could only stare. Snape had been his mentor, his idol for years. He had acted more of a father than Draco's own. Though not always patient, the man seemed to truly care about Draco. Which is what made him even more sorry.

They sat for a while, seconds stretching into minutes, a comfortable silence. Draco would often go into the potions room at night while Snape was grading papers or working on lessons. He would sit and read, or, more often, watch Snape and think about everything and nothing. The two spent many evenings not talking, barely acknowledging each other. Now, Draco wondered, did Snape remember those evenings as well as he, Draco, did?

"I'm sorry." The words broke the air, warping it, and the comfortable silence was but a distant memory. "I'm sorry for everything."

Snape fixed him with a direct gaze. It held no malice, just patience, and Draco felt the curious sensation of a weight being lifted off him. Forgiveness.

"I should have told you. You didn't know, and you're still too young to guess." Snape stepped forward, and Draco was surprised that he could feel his hands, warm, alive, on his shoulders. "You did what you thought was right. What you thought I wanted. You did nothing wrong."

Those words….they were what Draco had been waiting for. A sigh of relief escaped him before he could call it back. Draco met Snape's gaze and asked another burning question. "Which side was right?"

"Theirs, of course. Dumbledore's always right. You should know that by now. But Voldemort had good ideas, and he could help the purebloods regain their "natural rights." That's why your parents followed him. That's why you followed him."

"Ah." Another silence, and Draco examined Snape. Death had done the man good. He didn't looka as worried as he had the final years of his life, when Draco had known him best.

Snape broke the silence, and it seemed that he, too, had been examining. "Brown, huh? It suits you."

Draco touched his changed locks and grinned up at his mentor, his friend, his father. And Snape just might have smiled back.

Later…much later than usual…the first customer came down for breakfast. It was only then that Draco stopped talking to Snape, the only man to ever give him praise. The only man he had ever trusted. The only man he had hurt deeply.

Armed with a message and a battered coat, Draco found himself making his way towards the Burrow that very night.

**How do you like it? I know it was random and everyone was expecting a Weasley, but I had to work Draco in somewhere. I always thought his relatioinship with Snape must have been pretty close, and I do think he can change (maybe not in two months, but still…). He's not all bad. He's just drawn that way. **

**Anyone get the movie reference? I know, more randomness, but review, please. I need ideas about who's getting the Ring!**


	6. The Return of a Coat

_Harry could think of no one who deserved a cauldron of galleons more than the Weasleys, who were very nice and extremely poor. __**Prisoner of Azkaban**_

Draco, disguised as Ben, trudged up the hill towards the Burrow. He knew where it was, of course. One of the many failed plans of the Dark Lord was to attack the house directly.

The coat that hung over his shoulder held the Ring and the note. Draco had only added a few words to the already full piece of paper, and he hoped they wouldn't be spotted until he was well away from the home.

For a second he paused, hand held over the door, poised to knock. He could hear people inside and was sure that they'd be able to recognize him through his costume. Brushing the thought aside as ludicrous, he knocked, and waited.

A slow smile crept along the sides of Draco's mouth. The old Draco, the one from a year or even a few months ago, would never have gone to the house to deliver a coat. That was House Elf work, of course, and below one of his status, plus he would have jinxed the clothing at the very least and cursed it at the worse. Was he growing up or growing soft?

The door was answered by Ron and Draco held very still, holding his breath, knowing that he would be spotted by this person, if no one else. How many times had he tormented Ron because of his clothes, his blood, his family? It was all so…pointless, and so very childish. The boy was taller than Draco, and his eyes held the tired, haunted look of one who'd done too much for too long, though there was a determined smile on his face. "Hello, mate." He said, amicably enough. "Which red-head are you here for?"

Draco had to will his mouth to open, for it to form words, "I…err…I'm Ben, I work at the Leaky Cauldron. This was left there two nights ago," he thrust the jacket towards Ron's chest. "Sorry for interrupting, err…dinner? Just wanted to —"

"Thanks!" Ron seemed genuinely pleased, and scrutinized Draco with open curiosity as he folded the coat neatly over his arm. "Hey, you want to come in? There's not much room, but there's plenty of food." Maybe Ron had noticed Draco's baggy clothes and slightly protruding ribs, a sign, not of starvation, but of loneliness and depression. Food wasn't appealing when there wasn't someone to share a meal with.

Draco hesitated on the doorstep, thinking of Tom the barman and the kindness the old man had shown him in the past months. He was due back to the bar by morning to open up, but the evening was his, wasn't it?

"Sure." He would never, ever, be caught dead in the Weasley's house months ago, and they would never have let him in, he was sure, but times had changed. Stepping into the kitchen, Draco found a place that was slightly smaller than the amount of people that were crowded inside it.

The first one he saw was Harry. Draco's mouth automatically curled into a sneer before he caught himself, keeping his face resolutely neutral, though he did lean over to Ron and ask, quietly, "That really Harry Potter, mate?" because it seemed like something Ben would do.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Those are my brothers." He waved in the direction of the living room, where Draco could make out at least four red-headed boys talking loudly, apparently in a heated discussion. "My mum." Again, Ron pointed, this time to plump Mrs. Weasley, bustling around the kitchen with her daughter and Hermione as the girls readied the plates, chattering among themselves. "My sister's the red-head, and Hermione's the goddess."

Hermione heard him and rolled her eyes exasperatedly at Draco. "Hello, I recognize you. You work at the Leaky Cauldron, right?"

Draco nodded, acutely aware of Harry's gaze on the back of his head as the dark-haired boy came closer to him. What Draco had first taken to be a coat was in fact a blanket wrapped around a baby. Draco's mind whirled and he glanced almost instinctively at Ginny, though she gave no sign of the maternal fussing that would have seized her if the child had been hers. Ron confirmed this by introducing the bundle as, "Teddy Lupin, Harry's godson."

A crushing weight seemed to be dropped onto Draco's chest. He hadn't known — how could he have known? — that Professor Lupin had married, and that the marriage had resulted in a baby. Somehow, this made his death even more of a loss. He had _liked_ Lupin, despite the fact that his friendship with Snape had predisposed him to hate the man. Almost subconsciously, he reached a finger towards the baby, who grasped it in his pudgy hand. Draco drew back, though, as the baby's hair changed to an almost white shade of blond, as his face narrowed and paled before his eyes.

_Damn_. Draco had heard somewhere that there were metamorphmagis' still alive in the world, but the odds of meeting the offspring of one were terrible. This baby had blown his cover.

Draco glanced at the door, the window, fingered his wand in his pocket (he had gotten it off one of the bodies in Hogwarts, he preferred not to think of who it was, though he was sure that he, Draco, must have killed whoever it turned out to be). But instead of immediately recognizing him s an outsider, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny are gathered around the baby, fussing over him, exclaiming to each other about how the baby's hair had never turned anything lighter than brown before.

"Fred, call the boys for dinner," Draco turned away from the group huddled around the baby and found himself staring at a picture, about the size of a large book. It was undoubtedly a Weasley twin. Whichever it was (and Draco, though he knew they had names, had never bothered learning them, preferring to refer to them internally as The Twins, The Blood-Traitors, or, his favorite, Them) sighed heavily and turned away from the room where the rest of the family was gathered.

Ron sidled up to Draco, surprising him by saying, by way of explanation, "That's Fred, ignore him, he's sulking because Mum wouldn't let George take him into the room with the others. Afraid he'll get trampled. Personally, I think she just wanted Fred in the kitchen so he can tell George how to cook." If it was supposed to be a joke, it wasn't a very good one, especially given the fact that the other twin --- George, it must be --- came into the room, his cheeks sunken, eyes bulging, looking, like Draco, as if he had lost the will to eat.

"Oy, Perce!" Ron tossed Percy Weasley the patched up coat, rolling his eyes at Harry. Harry looked amused as he shifted Teddy from one hip to another. "Geeze, Perce, are you trying to lose that coat or something? That's twice in a week you've left it somewhere."

Percy shook his head, twitching his lips into a smile. His eyes, framed by familiar-looking horn-rimmed glasses, glanced at Draco, who felt the now-familiar jolt in his stomach as he expected to be discovered. "Thanks for bringing it all the way over here, you could have just left it there, I probably would have stopped by the Leaky Cauldron within a few days."

Draco was asking himself the very same question --- why he hadn't just waited for the Weasley to pick up their clothing. He didn't have an answer yet.

The conversation at the table was playful and loose, not at all the way a similar dinner's conversation would have gone a year ago. This one held no talk of war, Voldemort, the Order, Death Eaters, or death. Draco ate without thinking, preferring to watch the family.

The six boys --- this was including Potter --- ate ravenously, digging into the meal. The portrait of the twin was propped up next to its doppelganger, and the two were plagued with advice as to how to let the portrait eat.

"There's probably a spell _somewhere_." Hermione muttered fervently, causing the table to erupt into laughter. This was, as Charlie pointed out, Hermione's old standby. If she didn't know something, go to the library.

"Well," Hermione pouted, not at all disheartened by the lack of faith, "You won't be laughing if I get Fred something to eat, now will you?"

"At least some Butterbeer, 'Mione, I'm starved!" The boy cried from his picture. When Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking, Draco saw the twin mouth, "And some firewhisky."

The night passed quickly, and Draco found himself participating in the discussions, which invariably probed into his background. "Did you go to Hogwarts?" Ginny asked at one point, scrutinizing him, "I think I remember you."

"No," Draco said quickly, trying to think of a reasonable school, "I, err, actually lived in America until two years ago. I went to the Salem School for Wizards. Good school, but there was no Quidditch. I've really gotten into it since I've moved here." It was almost scary how easy he could lie.

If Draco had thought it out, the boy thought in retrospect, he wouldn't have mentioned America. From schools, the topics flew around different aspects of American life, of muggles, of places he pretended he'd seen. By the time the dishes were cleared, Draco had told more lies than he could keep track of.

But, he thought, it was worth it. He seemed to be…accepted. Harry had invited him for a Quidditch game the following week behind the Burrow, and most of the boys had promised to visit the crowded bar more often. As Draco left the house, after saying his goodbyes and offering to help with the dishes, he wondered how fast he would have been kicked out if he had introduced himself as Draco Malfoy.

**I know, there was no Ring in here. I just really, really wanted this chapter. I love reformed Draco. Next chapter: Percy. Who's he bringing back? I can't tell you that.**

**As always, please, please, **_**please**_** review. **


	7. Percy

"_Death cannot stop true love. Only delay it for a while."__** The Princess Bride**_

Late summer turned into late autumn before Percy Weasley discovered the Ring in the pocket of his favorite overcoat.

There were plenty of reasons for this. First and foremost were family problems. In his life Percy could not think of a family problem that didn't originate with Fred and George (yes, he knew he was exaggerating, he didn't care). This was no exception.

Percy still hadn't known all of the details of Fred's return when it started to happen. All had known was that one day Fred showed up in a picture at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and all was right in the world once again. It wasn't until almost August, three weeks after Fred's mysterious appearance, that it became noticeable.

Fred was dying. Again.

It was a freak coincidence. Irony, Fate, as if logical Percy believed in any of those things. As soon as they'd gotten Fred back, he had to up and die again. And it was just so _funny_ that any Weasley would die of starvation. They may not have had much growing up, but their mother had always made sure that they ate. Always.

Fred was an unusual picture. That's how he'd been introduced to the family. He could laugh, cry, interact with others. It was a quirk, Percy had thought, a goof that had to do with Fred's alarmingly forward personality. Only it wasn't. Turned out, Fred was basically alive inside that picture, and he needed all the things living people need, including food.

The starvation process was slowed to a heartbreaking point. According to Hermione's calculations, if Fred didn't eat anything he probably wouldn't actually die until around Christmas or even after, in pain. It was easy to tell when one of the twins were in pain. They stopped complaining. They stopped joking. They just kind of…stopped. George had done it after Fred died. Fred was doing it now as he was dying.

It had taken the combined efforts of Hermione, Charlie, Bill, assorted relatives, and half the Wizarding World who had heard of the plight from Lee, who had kept up his talk show after the Battle of Hogwarts. Suggestions were flooding the Burrow daily, Hermione was working on a remedy from school, Charlie from Romania, Bill and Percy on the homefront. It was still months before a spell was found.

Percy had suggested once that if they didn't marry into the family, the Weasleys should adopt Harry and Hermione. Sometimes he felt he could kiss the girl. It was just after Halloween that she burst into Wizard Wheezes with an antidote. Percy worked there now. George still needed the help because Fred, though he was very entertaining, was not much help in the heavy lifting department, so he witnessed firsthand the girl's amazing spell work. The girl would have had a bright future in the Ministry if it hadn't crumbled.

Fred had perked up some since then, though the sallow look he, and in turn George, had acquired over the course of the arduous starvation process was still present. Percy was glad that his brothers had begun joking around again, coming up with fresh ideas for the shop. As long as Fred and George were making new products and laughing, things couldn't be _that_ wrong with the world.

The night Percy found the Ring, he had just gotten home from the joke shop. Home being a small flat near where the Ministry was being resurrected. It was small but clean, with very few pieces or colors that really made it _his_. He didn't mind. He'd rather things be impersonal, lacking a woman's touch.

Quiet Christmas music was playing over the radio even though it was still a week from December. Absentmindedly humming to one of the songs Percy threw his coat towards the chair where it missed and landed on the floor in a soft pile. Sighing, he picked it up from its hem, turning it in such a way that the Ring and the now-filled paper fell out.

Intellectual Percy was often mistaken for being cold, uncaring, or unimaginative. He wasn't any of these things. He was, quite simply, lonely, and trying to carve a niche for himself in his family. He never seemed to _belong_ to anyone. Bill and Charlie were a pair, same as Fred and George. Ron and Ginny were just too young to get to know him. So he was a loner. And he'd never really minded that.

Holding the Ring, Percy did a very risky thing. He remembered. He let himself remember the day he had walked out on his family, turning his back on everything he had known to embrace a Ministry that was clearly wrong. At nineteen, Percy had been able to see flaws in the Ministry that older people, like the minister himself, couldn't perceive. Yet he'd joined them. There was a catalyst for that, a tipping point, something that had made him go to a side that, while not being exactly wrong, was not even close to being right.

Percy's fingers tightened over the Ring as muggle music played in the background. For a second he let himself think back to that wonderful year, the year directly out of Hogwarts when everything seemed right in the world. The year of Penelope.

Percy and Penelope Clearwater had seemed a sure thing. Both intelligent, withdrawn, rule-abiding middle children of large families. Head boy and girl. Able to get into the Ministry on NEWT scores alone, because there certainly wasn't enough money from either family to pay for a position.

The apartment had been, like everything else in the duo's lives, a hand-me-down, belonging previously to Penelope's older sister and _her_ boyfriend before they moved to the country side. Penelope had been the one to make the small space a home for the two of them, using cheap paint and an eclectic collection of knick-knacks to give personality to the few rooms. While she did all this, Percy fell in love.

Going out on a limb (the whole thing, after all, could be a practical joke on the part of Fred and George. God knew he'd been on the receiving end of one of those more times than he could count), Percy murmured her name, holding his breath instinctively, already preparing himself for disappointment.

She stood there, in the room she had created three years ago, her blond hair tumbling down her shoulders, looking three years younger than Percy and a world happier. She moved forward, smiling easily, hand outstretched, ready to envelope him again. "Loop me in, Perce." She murmured, pressing herself against him. "What's been going on?"

Percy understood, once again, why he'd never told his family about the extent of his and Penelope's relationship. He wanted her all to herself. He wanted, for once, to have something, someone, that was his and no one else's. Was that selfish? Maybe. Probably.

He did not use the word _love_ very often. He didn't even think it. Sure, he loved some things. His sister, his mother, even, grudgingly, his brothers. He had extended his definition of love to include his job, his on constant companion, Hermes. Penelope.

They didn't speak. They both knew, instinctively, that this was the only time they would get together. A one-night stand, in a way. Percy put his head in her hair and she laughed. Both the smell and the sound were intoxicating and Percy drank it in, reveling in it. This is what he had needed. Who had known that he needed a chance to say goodbye?

"Take off your glasses, Perce, and get me a blanket." Bossy, and yet Percy did it anyway, gladly, almost tripping over himself in his haste to make her more comfortable. He handed her the blanket, his hand lingering on hers. "I'm ---"

"Don't say sorry." Penelope pulled him onto the couch. "Don't say sorry and don't say goodbye. Forgive and forget, right?"

"But ---" Perfect Percy, stupid Percy, too uptight and logical and goal-oriented to say what he meant. He had never told her, not in life, not now in death. "I love you." Quietly, hopefully, he looked up at her.

"You're an idiot." She kissed him, and Percy forgot that she'd been dead three years, that he had sworn he wouldn't dwell on the past. This was Penelope, the love of his life. It was a little more than a little sad.

The night Percy had left his family was a week after Penelope's death. She had died from complications during pregnancy, as far as the doctors could tell. Percy didn't know that kind of thing still happened. The loss of his girlfriend (soon to be fiancé, soon to be wife) and unborn child on top of the fiasco with Crouch and Ministry's pressure and Voldemort's return was too much. He'd cracked, and he'd regretted it ever since. He couldn't face his family, not after what he said to them. He stayed away for almost three years, when his father then Ron then Bill had ended up in the hospital. He had seen them after Dumbledore's death. Why hadn't he spoken to them then? He'd missed Bill's wedding. Another stupid action.

Pride. A stupid male emotion. A worthless one.

Kissing turned to touching, and Percy's hands drifted over Penelope's belly, retaining its bulge in death. "I'm sorry." He murmured, staring at it.

"It's not your fault. I just wish I'd seen him." She touched Percy's face affectionately, a soft gesture that spoke volumes of emotion. "He'd be red-headed." She was always so sure of this, when her own beautiful hair was so blond it was almost white.

Too long Percy had let his insecurities dictate his actions, first by distancing himself from his family then by refusing to acknowledge the depth of his relationship with Penelope. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

The Christmas music continued playing. Penelope had loved Christmas, had loved the muggle music that went along with it. She sang along with the song beautifully, sorrowfully. "I really can't stay."

Percy had never been a great singer. He ended up saying something simple, hopeful. "Don't." He couldn't bear to lose her again, to be alone with his own and the suddenly-too-large apartment.

She glanced at him, one half of her mouth quirking upwards in a smirk so familiar it left Percy's heart aching. "Family."

"Family." Percy agreed. It had taken him long enough to realize that family was the most important thing, the only thing worth having, the one thing not worth throwing away. Then, defensively, "Love."

"Love." She agreed, and kissed him again, her swollen belly pressing against him. She glanced out at the rapidly approaching dawn. Had they really been up all night? "Remember us, Percy Weasley, and then get over it."

"Family." He had been reduced to a very small vocabulary and it made Penelope laugh. He could have been with her forever just to make her laugh. "No goodbyes."

"No regrets." She smiled again, her hand over her stomach, sun streaming from the window to frame her in light. Then she was gone. Again.

It was lucky, Percy thought as he left the apartment, that he had his family this time. He couldn't bear to lose her for a second time, alone. He was lucky. So why had it taken years for him to realize it?

With the Ring, the paper, the continuing note tucked securely in his pocket, Percy made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe before work he'd have a drink with that boy, what's-his-name, Ben. Maybe he'd tell a random almost-stranger about Penelope and his unborn child before he told the people who mattered, because now he was sure that he needed to tell his family.

Sometime later that night, after the day had been finished and a crowd of red-heads and various friends were filing into the Leaky Cauldron, Percy slipped the Ring and note into another worn jacket, flinging a prayer to whoever cared to hear it that the small piece of jewelry would help.

**Okay. That was Percy. **

**So was he and Penelope that close? How am I supposed to know, all I know is that in the fourth book he was pretty close to his family and in the fifth he shut them out. This is just my explanation for that. **

**Love it? Hate it? Review!**


	8. Hermione

"_Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say good-bye for the present." __**Dumbledore**_

Hermione understood the Ring as soon as she saw it.

Hogwarts being sort of a half-way home for the Duration, it was pretty lax in its rules, especially for those like Harry, or Neville, who chose to repeat their seventh year. They were allowed out on weekends in groups of two or more. Ron often went to the Joke shop, usually alone by choice. Hermione didn't blame him --- she still remembered those horrible weeks before Fred had turned up in that portrait.

Both Harry and Hermione were spending an excessive amount of time with the Weasley family, which Hermione was slowly starting to think of as her family. Though she had retrieved her parents from Australia, she always thought of her immediate family as too small, too ordered, preferring the chaos of the Burrow over the cleanliness of home.

The Leaky Cauldron had become a favorite hangout, partly because of that boy, Ben. Most of the Weasley family had made it their duty to sort of adopt him and he didn't seem to mind. Hermione found herself staring at the boy for minutes at a time, unable to shake the feeling that she'd seen him somewhere before. But that was impossible.

When Hermione found the Ring she'd been sitting in the boy's dormitory, listening half-heartedly to the Quidditch conversation that always seemed to follow the five boys. Of course, they could defeat Voldemort, restore peace to the entire Wizarding world, and all these guys would care about would be whether or not the Quidditch match would still take place.

The letters fascinated her and she was preoccupied for several moments. They went from being descriptions of what the Ring was to various experiences with the object. She looked up furtively at Neville who, like Seamus, still bore some of the marks of the detentions from the previous year. He was laughing, smiling, more confident than he'd ever been.

Some of the stories were funny, some skeptical, and all were beautiful. She read all the notes, smiling as she went over the experiences, feeling as if she were sharing something special with each person. When she got to Percy's detailed account (it read like a newspaper article) she felt tears come to her eyes. She'd never known, never even suspected, that Percy might be in love, that he could have been a father.

That was so….it made everything fit. And it made Hermione want to cry.

In a corner, scrawled in a lazy, loopy hand was a short note of thanks. She didn't know who it was from, though it did once mention the Prince. Could the author have called up Snape? And how would he know about the book?

She had known as soon as she got the Ring who she wanted to talk to --- who she needed to talk to. Hermione put the Ring back in her pocket and let it sit there as she planned out how the conversation would go.

Winter turned to Spring; Spring hastened towards Summer. Still, Hermione had not called on the woman. She was looking for the opportune moment.

It came in June when everyone returned to the Burrow. It was full of people; Mrs. Weasley, busy as ever; Mr. Weasley, slightly more bald, though less tired looking; Bill and Fleur, heavy with child; Charlie, a new scar covering his forehead; Percy, proud, happy at the shop; George, carrying Fred, arm in arm with Angelina Johnson. Harry sat with Ginny, all traces of boyishness gone from his face as he stretched in his chair, laughing with an equally older-looking Ron. Harry held Teddy Lupin in the crook of his arm, though the year-old boy was squirming and was eventually picked up by Angelina.

That day started the events that would both terrify and excite Hermione, and it started easily enough. Hermione had known all along what would happen.

Near twilight, when dinner was starting to steam in the kitchen, Ginny called for everyone's attention. Then she proposed to Harry.

It was…priceless, the look on Harry's face, though it wasn't half of funny as Ron's expression. A great whoop of joy came from one of the Weasley brothers the instant before Harry answered with a kiss, a laugh, a great nod of yes.

Then something Hermione had not been ready for. Ron glanced once at Harry, who's grin got broader as he nodded again, then got on one knee himself. "Hermione." His voice had gotten deeper in the past year and evened out at a gentle tenor.

She didn't let him finish. He didn't have to. They both had known this a long time ago, before the kiss during the battle, before that terrible year. They were supposed to end up together. It was inevitable. "Yes." She whispered before he kissed her, gentler than Harry had kissed Ginny, then he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up.

Everyone present had applauded. Fleur, Mrs. Weasley, and Angelina had already gathered in a group, planning the upcoming weddings. Harry and Ron were surrounded by a mass of red-heads, all ready and willing to throw them a bachelor party that night.

That wasn't what prompted her to call on the Ring. The wedding was planned for the end of September. Hermione's heart broke by the beginning of August.

She had been with child. Hermione had always imagined being pregnant, how wonderful it would be. Though in the muggle world it would have been frowned upon to have a child out of wedlock, Hermione had confided n Ginny, who assured her that it was not nearly as scandalous among wizards.

She had planned to tell Ron after Harry's birthday, not suspecting that the Weasley boys' gift would be to send the three of them and Ginny to the country for a week. It wasn't until the beginning of August that she got the words out, and by then it was too late.

Miscarriages ran in Hermione's family; her parents had always tried for more children. She just never suspected she would have one herself.

That was the catalyst she needed to dig the Ring out, to gaze at the paper for a second before mustering up the courage to call out the old, familiar name.

Tonks sat opposite Hermione in her favorite bubble-gum pink hair. She grinned lopsidedly from beneath the long bangs while examining Hermione. "You look old, hon."

That's exactly how Hermione felt. Old, wise before her time. She knew too much of the world, of pain and grief and loss. She had never, ever imagined she would lose her own child. "You look the same."

"It's all the same, up there." Tonks rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and they came back a bright golden color, something she'd lamented about never being able to pull off before. "Got some new tricks, you see."

"How's Professor Lupin?" Was it odd that Hermione still called the man Professor in spite of the fact that he hadn't taught them for years?

"Happy. Younger, even, now that he'd back with Sirius and James. I never knew them, of course, not really. They're a right old laugh that bunch, though I guess you know that by now." She gazed knowingly at the Ring which lay precariously on the edge of the bed, threatening to topple over the edge.

"Everyone know about it, then?" It was inevitable, she guessed, that news of the Ring got around…Heaven, or wherever Tonks and the others were. Maybe it was better that way. Everyone there needed to say goodbye, too, after all.

"Yeah. There's a couple of people who want to talk….but that's for later." She was still gazing critically at Hermione. "What happened, honey?"

Hermione laughed a little, a real laugh. "That's a loaded question." She murmured, then began with. "Well, we finished Hogwarts."

"Thank goodness. You must be pretty happy 'bout that."

"A little sad, too, but I think that extra year was all I needed. I'm pretty sure…I mean, I don't know for sure yet…but I think I want to teach." She looked at the woman, saw her face soften, eyes open wider. "Little kids, I mean. Not Hogwarts." She couldn't imagine staying at Hogwarts. As wonderful as the place was, it now seemed too…confined…for what she wanted to do.

Moving along. "As soon as we got back, Ginny proposed to Harry. I kind of egged her into that one. She would have grown up to be an old maid if she'd waited for him. Then…I totally wasn't expecting him…."

"Ron proposed." Tonks said brightly, happily. "Good. That ol' boy is good for something at least."

"Yeah. It's been wonderful." She couldn't help sounding like an eight-year-old here. Ron made her do it. "He's just so…"

"You were made for each other, love, and that's all there is to it." Tonks looked so happy for her, and Hermione had to smile. In the years since the Order had re-started, Tonks ahd become almost an older sister to her and Ginny, the only other female presence in their lives that was younger than their mothers. She taught them everything they needed to know about getting around different charms and had been very close to the pair.

"The wedding is set for the end of next month. It's great, really, a chance to see everyone after all the terrible things that went on last summer." The funerals, the tears, the shaky reunions, the misplaced families. She wouldn't redo that summer for any amount of money.

Now it was Hermione's turn to stare at Tonks. "Teddy's beautiful." She said quietly, watching the mother's mouth open in an _O_ of surprise and longing. "Harry is being such a good, well, _father_. He doesn't want to outright adopt Teddy because he thinks Teddy should choose for himself. They're going to wait until he's six or so. But they --- Ginny and Harry --- both adore him."

"I'd imagine it'd be pretty hard not to." Tonks looked stricken at the mention of her son. "What…what's he look like?"

"Currently? No idea." Hermione laughed again. "He's a great Metamorphmagous. Really quick at it. As soon as someone touches him he's can mimic most of their appearance. Harry's already griping about when he gets older and runs off. He says he doesn't look forward to telling the Police, 'well…I don't know exactly what he looks like at the moment.'"

Tonks laughed now too, a little voice of regret. Then, completely serious for perhaps the first time. "So…what _happened_?" And Hermione knew what she meant. What happened that made Hermione ask to see Tonks, what made Hermione crack?

"I…I was pregnant." Hermione's voice cracked on the word, and now she was regretting, too, regretting the loss of the baby that had barely started to grow inside of her. "And then I wasn't."

"Oh, honey." Tonks leaned forward and they hugged, both mourning the loss of their children. "You tell him?" Ron should know. Hermione knew he should. But she hadn't even told him she was pregnant. She shook her head.

"It's okay." Tonks brought her close again. "You just wait. You have a whole life ahead of you. You'll be doing great things for the world, though," she smiled wryly, "Perhaps not as great as those you've already done." Hermione blushed. "And when the time comes you'll have another baby."

"But…" why didn't she understand? She thought, of all people, Tonks would understand this. "But I wanted this one." She sounded, and acted, much younger than her nineteen years.

"I know, love, I know." They there like that, holding each other, lamenting not being able to see their children. Mothers should not leave their babies, and yet both of these had been taken away from them. After all the good they'd done for the world, it seemed hopelessly unfair.

It might have been minutes later, but was probably closer to hours, when Hermione started telling Tonks all the stories she could dredge up about the woman's son. Tonks, in turn, recounted different events from heaven, including a pretty funny story about the old Marauders (plus Snape, now, instead of Pettegrew. Hermione pretended to understand) managed to turn the place Dumbledore was living into a bar overnight.

By morning, both of the woman had cried all their tears so thoroughly that when they parted they could only look at each other knowingly. "You going to tell him, love?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I will." Hermione put out hand, about to draw the woman into another hug, when Tonks was gone, and she was left holding sunlight.

**I think baby's are on my mind. This is the second chapter with a baby in it. Must be Christmas. **

**So who should get the Ring? I really am out of ideas. **

**Please review, and Merry Christmas. **


	9. Mrs Weasley

**A/N: A surprising amount of people wanted a chapter for Mrs. Weasley. What's more appropriate than the wedding of two of her children?**

_"Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother?" **Fred Weasley**_

Molly Weasley was crying with her brother who'd been dead for years.

"I-I can't believe it, Fabien. Losing both my babies in one day." She blew her nose and felt a warm hand go around her waist.

They were looking over the backyard which had once again been transformed into a place for, not one wedding, but two. It had seemed as if everyone had wanted to pitch in, from Hagrid bringing a baby unicorn's lost tail for Ginny's train, to Kreacher, the mean-spirited house-elf who brought fifteen others to cook the feast.

The entire Wizarding World seemed to turn up to watch the marriage of these four children (for they were still children to Molly. She could even remember Harry and Hermione, who weren't her children by blood, as gangling, awkward twelve-year-olds). They were almost celebrities, the princes and princess' of the society without royalty.

"You're not losing them." Fabien assured his sister, smiling. "They're being…adopted."

Molly's laugh was edged with hysteria. "You always thought you were funny."

Fabien looked affronted. "That's because I _am_. You just never chose to see it, sis." Molly couldn't help but broaden her smile at that, just as a shadow of doubt crossed Fabien's features. "Are you sure no one will notice me? Awkward questions…?"

"No one even knew what you looked like. Not even Arthur. You forget how young you were, Fabien. Barely thirty." Her eyes became soft as she stroked her brother's dead face. "You were so reckless." Then, brisker, purposely light hearted. "Plus, what's one Weasley more or less?"

Fabien had to agree with that. "Ever imagine they'd marry like this?"

"As a pair? No. The only double wedding I was planning on attending was Fred and George's. I guess that's not going to happen." Even with the portrait, the very-much-alive substitute, it was still hard to admit that Fred could not walk about, get dates… "Although, those two are very much the eternal bachelors. Angelina's good for George, but they won't be settling down for quite some time, I think."

"But do you like Harry?" They were moving through the crowd now. Luckily, there were so many people that the mother of two of the participants went virtually unnoticed. "And Hermione?"

"Oh, of course. I think of Harry as my own son, and there's no better match for Hermione than Ron. To be honest," she confessed to her young brother. "Some part of me hoped this would happen, to keep them all in the family."

"I hear he has my watch. Maybe I'll steal it back, I always liked that thing." Fabien mused, standing on tip-toe to see over the crowd towards Harry and Ron, standing nervously at the alter.

"Don't you dare!" Molly hissed. "You gave that to me, and I gave it to him. He needs a good watch. Harry's a great boy, but he's so…."

"Boyish?"

"Yeah." Being with her thirty-year-old brother made Molly act that age again. An enormous hand clapped her shoulder and she winced before looking up. "Hello, Hagrid."

"Molly." He said, a large smile on his face. "Just wanted to see how you were holdin' up, wit' two o' your babies leavin' an' all." He looked at Fabien, who was trying to disappear into a large know of red-heads. "Aren't you supposed to be dead, Fabien? Thought I heard…"

"Thank you for the unicorn tail, Hagrid." Molly said loudly. "Fleur and her mother managed to make the most beautiful trains…"

"Did they now?" All thoughts of supposedly-dead wedding guests were gone as Hagrid's face lit with pleasure. "How does Ginny look? And Hermione?"

"Beautiful." A tug on her sleeve by Fabien made Molly go deeper within the crowd. Here was the younger generation, filled with the teen's guests. The boys --- Neville, Dean, Seamus, the twins, and Lee --- were gathered around the grooms, poking at them with half-serious quips.

"Sometimes I wish I had a camera." Molly sighed, looking at the group. Dean, Seamus, and Fred were singing off-key, Harry looking somewhere between revolted and amused. Ron was being verbally attacked by Neville and Lee while George put the boy in a headlock.

Fabien was looking at them, too. "You can barely tell that there's been a war." He commented, and Molly felt her heart wrench at the memory of that long month following the war, when she'd lost a son and two very good friends.

"There are still signs." Molly replied, her eyes lingering on the scars Neville and Seamus still bore, on the portrait, on Harry's scar.

"So why aren't you with the girls? Your daughter?" They wound towards the slightly older guests. Here was Bill, Charlie, and Percy, all surrounding Fleur and her days-old daughter Victoir. Molly remembered the day she'd been born, the day Bill had named Percy godfather.

She suspected she'd never know the whole reason for that. There were some things the brothers kept to themselves.

Tearing her eyes from the baby and restraining the urge to pick her up, she answered the question, her voice betraying her indignation. "I was banished. Angelina's in there, and Luna. They insist they can handle it."

"They've seen you at weddings."Fabien pointed out.

"You're terrible." Molly said, meeting up with her husband. Arthur looked at her, then at Fabien, then back at his wife. He kissed her, almost absentmindedly. "Ready, love?"

Truthfully, Molly Weasley was not ready. She turned to her brother, who was smiling wanly. "You ready to go?"

"No." Fabien said, childishly, then. "You really…you're children are beautiful, Molly. You brought them up well."

And now, that Molly thought of it, maybe she had raised her children right. They were successful (the twins more than that), bright, educated. More importantly, they had become kind, loyal, with even Percy coming back to the old-fashioned values of love and family.

"Thanks, Fabien." The first chords of the wedding march, and suddenly her children surrounded her, gravitating automatically. Her family had grown, somewhat, expanding to include Fleur, and Harry, and Hermione, and even Angelina. She had gotten her first grandchild from her oldest son, a beautiful girl with hair like her mother and eyes of her father, the first Weasley in generations without the patented hair.

She looked back to where Fabien had stood a moment ago and found that the man had disappeared, leaving an unobstructed view of Ginny and Hermione walking down the aisle.

_Oh, Fabien_. She thought, fingering the heavy ring in her pocket. She felt hands on her face from her husband, a firm grip on her waist from Bill. Wolf whistles came in tandem from Fred and George while Charlie clapped loudly from behind. Molly joined Angelina and Fleur in crying, tears falling in joy for the first time in over a year.

**I thought it was weird that everyone was locked in their rooms during the story, and like Mrs. Weasley said, what's one Weasley more or less?**

**Please review: Is Molly done okay? And, once again, any suggestions?**


	10. Professor McGonagall

"_When you have seen as much of life as I have, Harry, you will not underestimate the value of obsessive love." __**Dumbeldore**_

Minerva McGonagalll wasn't an emotional woman, but because there were witnesses, she will admit that she cried at the wedding.

Both Hermione and Ginny had spent months "persuading" the now-headmistress to attend the ceremony. Minerva would have gone all along; she had to admit that she loved both of the girls, and besides, no one could refuse an invitation to the wedding of the famous Harry Potter himself.

A bemused smile overtook her features then, for she still remembered the skinny eleven-year-old with wide eyes who knew nothing of the fame he'd been forced into. That was probably for the best; Harry could not have turned as modest and loyal and selfless as he had if he had been fussed over since birth.

She managed to sidle next to the Weasley (and assorted others) group just in time to hear the twins wolf-whistle as Hermione and Ginny stepped into view. Even the aging headmistress could not help but sigh at the beauty both girls carried, Hermione in an earthy, soft way, Ginny's appearance more vibrant and vital.

"They're lovely, aren't they, Molly? Fabien?" She glanced at the man who'd been dead for over twenty years. "Don't think I didn't notice you."

Fabien nodded, grinning quickly before pressing a piece of metal and some paper into her hand. "For when you need it, ma'am." He cast one more longing look at the packed wedding before disappearing, leaving the Professor holding onto the Resurrection Ring.

Throughout the ceremony, Minerva tried to keep her mind off the Ring (being around the Weasleys made it easier, what with Molly needing a handkerchief and the boys trying to simultaneously embarrass their youngest brother and attempt to get their only sister to walk out on Harry). However, her mind kept coming in circles, revolving around the small circle clutched in her hand.

She knew all about the Ring, of course. She had guessed after arriving at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and seeing two quite-happy twins joking back and forth. After a few careful prods, mostly towards a young man in the Leaky Cauldron who seemed to know everything that went on in the Wizarding world, she had been able to deduce with utmost certainty that the Ring was in circulation once again. But never in her wildest dreams did she believe it would come to her.

The day passed easily. After the ceremony was over and the seats done away with, there was dancing. Here, Minerva found herself being asked to dance by a myriad of people, most of which had been her former students.

The first was George Weasley. Now twenty-one years old, lankier than ever, the twinkle in his eye returned to its position now that his favorite brother had returned, he offered his hand to her immediately, a smile playing over his thin lips. "Oh, come on, Professor. One dance." It was a slow waltz, one that was almost as old as she. The newly-wedded couples were revolving in the middle of the dance floor and others were beginning to join in.

She allowed herself to be coaxed onto the floor and found herself with a very interesting partner; she had never known the twins could dance so well. "Enjoying the wedding?" McGonagalll asked quietly.

"A little put off that the younger ones married before I did, but the bachelor party was a riot. It's a good day for a wedding." Though the sky wasn't as pure a blue as it could have been, covered by a thin layer of clouds, that seemed to only make the day better. It wasn't as hot, at least.

Minerva found herself changing partners for the better part of an hour. After Angelina came to claim her boyfriend, she found herself dancing with Lee Jordan, Charlie Weasley, Oliver Wood…at one point, Harry asked to cut in and the old woman beamed at him.

"Having a good day, Professor?" he asked, and McGonagalll wondered when, exactly, the boy had gotten taller than she.

"You make me feel old. All of you." She laughed, almost giggling. "You shouldn't be getting married. You're only eleven."

"Nineteen."

"You'll always be eleven. Oh, I remember when I found you after the three of you took on that cave troll on Halloween. That might have been an omen."

"For what? Getting into trouble?"

"For making my life so much more complicated."

"More interesting."

"Same thing." She felt tipsy, excited, giddy. The ring was in her pocket and Dumbledore's favorite student was happy and married. Married! The world was returned to the way in was before the wars, surpassing itself as everyone banded together after grief and loss.

"Harry. Oy! Harry!" Never one for tact, Ron Weasley all but pushed Harry away from McGonagalll. "Sorry, Professor, but my sister's asking for her boyfr --- husband." The red-head glanced at Harry and laughed. "You're married, mate!"

"Look who's talking." Harry grinned, prompting an elbow to surreptitiously smack into his ribs. "Oh, alright. I'm going. Goodbye, Professor."

"Thank you." Minerva said sincerely to Ron, who was walking with her off the dance floor, hands stuffed deep into pockets. Broad shoulders and tall frame would not help McGonagalll think of him as an adult.

"No problem, Professor." Even though they weren't at Hogwarts, even though she was technically headmistress, she was still Professor McGonagall to everyone. She wouldn't give that up for the world. "I think I hear Hermione calling me….crazy woman."

The night passed peacefully. She danced more, talked more, and laughed more than she had in a year, in two. It was during Ron's speech to Harry that she, along with most of the females gathered, cried. Ron wouldn't be able to live that speech down without a certain amount of teasing, but it was both sincere and touching. She was a little disappointed to leave that night, saying goodbye to Molly just after midnight. She passed by Ginny and told the girl that she looked radiant.

"You must be pretty happy not to have Weasley next year, huh? Bill entered Howarts…what? Nineteen, twenty years ago?"

"Something like that." Minerva's laugh was tinged with something like hysteria. She knew then that it was past time to leave. "Say goodbye to your brothers for me."

"Do visit, Professor. At least for the holidays." It was Hermione imploring her now, and Minerva gave a noncommittal shrug before Disaperating.

Her hand was touching the Ring, she was thinking about him…when she appeared in the Headmaster's office, it was Dumbledore standing there, standing next to his favorite large window that looked towards the Quidditch Pitch, the forest, Hagrid's small cabin. "Good evening, Minerva."

"Albus." She'd missed the man more than she was willing to admit. All her life he'd been just…there. As a girl in school he'd taught her Transfiguration class. When she'd applied for a teaching position he'd been headmaster and had hired her immediately. Since then, she'd seen the man in all sorts of positions, usually pitted against someone in power, advocating for what he believed was right.

Albus Dumbledore turned around, half-moon spectacles and silver beard both shining in the moonlight. "Late night? I heard the wedding excellent."

"It was. Albus…"

"They were always meant for each other, those four." He moved towards her, looking about the office which, for her having inhabited it for two years, still had the distinct feel of being 'his'. She still referred to it, even in her mind, as the headmaster's office. Still, she had done her best to personalize the space, add a woman's touch…

"You've decorated. Good. I was beginning to think that this place was getting a little weary with age. I particularly like the drapes. Blue is a lovely color." Albus smiled at her, and she felt, as she always did when she looked at her like that, as if he could see right through her. It was at moments like these that she felt like turning into a cat; that had always made him smile.

Minerva happened to glance towards the desk, behind which the portrait of Dumbledore was snoozing. "The portrait…" the entire Wizarding world was beginning o rethink portraits in light of Fred Weasley's miraculous appearance.

"Is just a portrait. I'm afraid I'm not as good a prankster as Fred Weasley, nor am I quite as inclined to rejoin this world. No, it was my time to die. I do not regret it." He was saying so much more than those words, telling her he was alright with his death, with the way he had died, that she was able to move on.

Minerva sank onto a couch, a comfortable piece of furniture she had had for years and the first piece to be moved into the headmaster's office once she had acquired the position. "You cannot tell me that there was nothing else you wanted to do in your life."

A withered hand covered hers and the woman realized with a start that the blackened appendage Dumbledore had possessed in his last year of life had been replaced, or healed, so that the arm was once again life-filled. That was almost ironic. Very ironic, that it was only in death that he regained his full life. "Well, I did always want to learn the recipe for Hagrid's famous rock cakes."

That brought a smile out of McGonagall, who gave a sort of strangled mixture of a laugh and sob. "But really, Minerva, I had outlived most of my childhood friends, done and seen many great things." His hand patted her arm gently. "My dear friend, I regret nothing."

"I wish I was more ready for this...you couldn't have left bigger shoes to fill, Albus." Too true. She was often concerned that she wasn't living up to Dumbledore's very high expectations.

Albus looked bemused at this revelation. "Did you not receive my manuscript? I told Severus to show it to you."

Minerva's eyebrows came together sharply. "After your death, I did not actively seek Snape's company, though he did ask for mine." She had mourned the man's death, after Harry had made it clear that Snape's actions were not as they had appeared at firth glance.

"Look in my desk." McGonagall stood, and the comforting presence of the hand was suddenly gone. "In preparation for my death, I did a number of things. One of them was to write you some notes of…if not wisdom, then tidbits I collected over the years. In short, I made sure to write you an instruction manual."

"How to run a school of magic?" Minerva guessed, extracting the manual in question from a bottom drawer she'd never touched. It was thick, written in the familiar, spindly handwriting. "Thank you, Albus."

The man stood, "Not that you need it, Minerva. You've done an excellent job with this school. I have never seen a more admirable headmistress."

Minerva smiled at this. "I believe you once told me that I would do much more good working at the Ministry than pursuing a doomed career as a teacher."

"Which goes to show that even the best of us must eat our words, particularly those said to talented fifteen year olds." Dumbledore beamed at her. "I would take off my hat to you, Minerva, if I had remembered to put it on this morning."

Another strangled laugh, and Minerva realized that the conversation was ending. And she was okay with that, somehow. "I expect I will be joining you soon."

"There's no rush. I'm not going anywhere." Even as he said this he was slowly disappearing, the glinting half-moon spectacles the last to fade. And for the second time in twenty-four hours, the second time in forty years, Minerva McGonagall cried with joy.

**I didn't know exactly what to do with McGonagall, but I knew she would call up Dumbledore. I always thought they were close...**

**As always, please review. **


	11. Hagrid

_"Yeah, but have yeh seen anythin', Ronan? Anythin' unusual?"  
_"Mars is bright tonight. Unusually bright"  
_"Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home."_ **_Hagrid, Philosopher's Stone_**

Left alone at night, without the presence of students or the creatures he so adored, Hagrid liked to mend his socks.

His father had taught him that well-mended socks was a sign of a thrifty and able person and Hagrid's large fingers had been adept at the task since he was a child. Naturally, the process always brought back memories of his the small, capable man that had been his father.

A large sigh emanated from an equally large body as Hagrid hoisted himself to his feet. It was mid-December, nearly Christmas. He'd been invited to spend the holiday at the Burrow (he'd been secretly hoping for an invitation) and was glad for a chance to get out of the school. Now, however, he glanced out the small window towards the castle bedecked in a hundred glimmering lights before looking down at the old boarhound laying at his feet.

"'Tis me birthday, Fang. Did'ja know?" He'd almost forgotten himself, to be perfectly honest. Seventy years old, exactly, though if you asked the students most would say he was nearer to forty or fifty. He'd been around a long time, thanks to the giant's blood, the only thing left from his mother. Seventy years…he'd known Tom Riddle before the man became Voldemort, known Dumbledore before he was headmaster, seen both the wars…He was old.

"Happy birthday." He muttered to himself. He'd never set much store in his birthdays, his favorite being when he turned eleven. That was every wizard's favorite birthday. "An' may I live t'see another un." He snorted, setting the mending aside as the tea kettle whistled.

The cabin he'd spent the last fifty-odd years living in wasn't large, though it managed to hold the large man, his rather large dog, and all of Hagrid's worldly possessions. The only thing he was proud of that wasn't in this house was his garden outback, his brother, and the kids that school. Those were the only things that mattered.

Absentmindedly humming a tuneless song, he fed Fang, pet the dog affectionately on the head, and tended to the four injured bowtruckles he'd found earlier that week. Poor creatures had fallen from their tree after Grawp had shaken them loose. He usually let Grawp have free reign of the forest now, as most of the creatures viewed him with a mixture of fear and amusement, knowing that Hagrid had taught him not to kill for sport. That already make the giant a fair sight better than most humans.

His birthday was turning out to be uneventful, not that he minded. No one left even knew his birthday, he didn't think. Dumbledore had, and had always made a visit of stopping in to see him on those occasions. Hermione, and, by her, Harry and Ron had figured it out and usually joined him. Now he had no company to look forward to, except maybe little Dennis.

Though the boy was a seventh year now, Hagrid couldn't help but think of him as the child he'd had to fish out of the lake during Crossing. Granted, they had been in the middle of a bleedin' hurricane, but the kid was the only one to ever fall out of a boat in his fifty years. That's how Hagrid remembered him as when the boy started visiting him last year.

Dennis Creevy was tall in a gangly way, all long arms and big feet at the moment. He reminded Hagrid of a mixture of Ron and Hermione, for while the boy could sit and watch Hagrid mend or polish for hours on end in silence, there were times when Hagrid couldn't get anything accomplished for the boy's twitching. Yes, maybe Dennis would visit tonight, but probably not. He'd visited less and less this year, dropping in only twice a week.

A knock on the door made Hagrid look up. "C'm in." He called, expecting the lanky teen. When the door opened, however, it not reveal the boy but Professor McGonagal, hair tumbling around her shoulders, a small smile on her face.

Hagrid stood up. "'Ello, Professor." He winced slight at the mistaken title but did not bother to correct it. For years, Minerva McGonagal had been a professor. That wasn't going to change anytime soon, not to Hagrid.

"Hagrid," She began, sitting down in a cushioned chair that Hagrid had gestured to. "I was going through some papers a few days ago and realized it was your birthday." She waited a moment for a confirmation of this and received only a mute nod. "And not just any birthday. Seventy's a big deal. You're almost as old as I am." She smiled.

"Not quite, Professor. Tea?" Hagrid poured the woman a cup and sat across from her.

"Thank you, though I shouldn't be long. I just came to wish you a happy birthday and to pass something along." She took a moleskin purse (presented to her by Hagrid after Dumbledore's death, because a headmistress deserved to have some secrets) from a bag she produced a ring and slid it across the table.

"Oh." It was all Hagrid could do to take the heavy band into his trembling hand. "Wait a mo', this can't be…" He let his voice drift off. Murmurs of the Ring had been circulating for some time, especially among the Weasleys who had the most obvious example of the Ring's existence with Fred.

"It works." McGonagal said quietly, voice earnest. "I've tried it." Something else appeared on the table, a piece of paper, tattered, torn, filled with scribbled messages and stories. "Read this and try it. Just pass it along." McGonagal stood up, drained the last of her tea, patted Fang's head. "Goodnight, Hagrid, and," the smile was radiant now, beautiful. "Happy birthday."

Hagrid watched her go, then read the paper. Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Percy, George…more people, all with stories, with losses. It worked.

Not daring to believe what he couldn't see Hagrid took a deep, steadying breath and asked more than commanded, "Dad?" Like a child, not the old man he was.

And his father was there, younger than he had remembered. Shorter, too, though that might have been because Hagrid himself hadn't been fully grown when the man had died. Finding his voice Hagrid said, a bit gruffly, "'Lo, Da."

In response, his father held out his arms. With a short laugh (he remembered!) Hagrid lifted the man up and set him on top of his dresser where they could speak eye to eye. "'Tis great to see you, Da." Hagrid said, one hand covering the man's leg.

"Same here, kiddo. Let me look at you. Last I heard you were twelve. Where are we, now?" He looked around, out the window. "A castle? The school?"

"Stayed here fer fifty years, Da." Hagrid said before lapsing into silence again. Neither of the Hagrids had ever been into talking, preferring to sit in each others company. They did that now.

His father leaned his forehead against Hagrid's great elbow. "What's been going on with you, son? Skip all the world history stuff, I've heard enough of it from the war casualties."

And so Hagrid told him about everything he missed, starting with getting thrown out of Hogwarts. "Didn't do nothing wron', Da. 't was Voldemort."

His father's response had been gently joking. "I've heard that one before, son."

Hagrid then recounted the kindness he'd been shown by Dippet by being allowed to remain at the school as groundskeeper in training. He told dad, reverently, about the forest and the creatures within it, of centaurs and hippogriffs and bowtruckles. Becoming "keeper of the keys and grounds" had been his calling, what he was meant to do.

"No lady friends, then, huh?"

And so he had to explain about Olympe and her horses, her hair, her command. "Ne'er met a woman like 'er." He left it at that and his father did, too.

For some reason, that's where Grawp came in, too, and as Hagrid spoke of his half-brother, so he learned about the mother he'd never really known.

"Friends?"

The only friends he'd really had were the students. Hagrid may not had been made for settling down but he loved the kids at the school more than anything, and he'd loved many kids in his fifty years. He talked of a few older students, many now in their fifties themselves, with families and careers. He spoke of the original Mauraders, who he'd chased from the forest. He was one of the few who's known, or deduced the true identities and meanings of Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail. He discussed his favorites, Harry, Ron, Hermione.

"Great kids, all. Great kids. 'Mione's more brilliant den a fair few Ministry blokes. Ron's got a heart o' gold. Harry…well, you must 'ave heard o' Harry."

His father nodded through all of this, interjecting at the right points, supplying his own two cents about matters that had happened decades ago. Finally, as the moon set behind the school and he boarhound stopped licking his feet, he asked, "Son…are you happy?"

Hagrid noticed the seriousness of the question and thought about it for a minute or more, ready to give a serious answer. "Yeh." He said, slowly. "Dis school, these kids…dey're in me blood, Da. An' all the creatures. What I do…it's important, ya know? Special."

A feather-light hand patted Hagrid's thumb. Looking down, the groundskeeper noticed that his father had lost some of his color. "Disappearin' on me again?"

Light laughter. "Looks like it." The two embraced even as the man faded. The last strains of "happy birthday, son," died as his father disappeared.

"Goodbye, dad." He'd meant to say it, he had. Hagrid had never gotten to say goodbye to his father before the man died. He'd hoped that seeing him again would give him that chance. Somehow, he was glad he'd never spoken the words when his father could hear them.

Sitting at the large oak table as night changed slowly to day, Hagrid wrote in the tiniest letters on the cramped letter, _need a new piece of paper_.

**So, can ya'll guess who's coming up next? I tried to make it pretty obvious. **

**BTW: How was Hagrid. I was four paragraphs into this chapter when I realized I would have no idea if I wrote him OOC. Please tell me any mistakes with his personality. **

**As always, please review. **


	12. Dennis

_"Wow!" said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster. __**Goblet of Fire**_

Dennis Creevey was no longer a boy. He was exactly as old as his brother had been when he'd died.

Hogwarts felt more empty now than ever. All of his older friends had left, those who were in the original DA, those who were present during the TwiWizard those many years ago. He was sixteen and beginning to feel very old.

Occasionally, Dennis would sit at the base of the gigantic war memorial that had been erected in the castle. He felt very peaceful there, and would always bring a scrap of paper to draw on or a bit of an apple to eat, anything to prolong his stay. He liked to feel he was close to the people who'd died, the nice Professor his brother had always talked about and one of the ever-laughing Weasley twins (though he was back, wasn't he?).

Dennis liked to feel close to Colin.

If he was in a very pensive kind of mood and couldn't be brought out by a visit to the statue, which happened twice a week or so now but used to happen more often, Dennis would visit Hagrid. Sometimes he wondered if it was his fall into the lake during the Crossing that made him like Hagrid's class the most. He felt more comfortable with the great half-giant, wandering the mostly-tamed forest with him, or trying to catch an injured creature, than he did with schoolmates his own age.

"'Ello, Dennis." Hagrid said warmly, peering at Dennis from over the top of a tea kettle. "I got somfin fer you." Dennis watched distractedly as Hagrid rummaged through a great chest for the thing he was looking for. "'Ere you go."

"Thanks, Hagrid." He didn't look at the envelope the giant had pushed into his hand and once again took to brooding. Hagrid watched him for a moment before picking up a largish niffler and proceeding to bandage her snout, which had been burned when she nosed too close to Hagrid's fire.

Finally, Dennis couldn't stand it. He'd known this would happen, but it was February and it was almost two years later…you'd think… "Hagrid, it's his birthday." His voice was desperate, though he thought he'd made it sound as if he didn't care one way or the other.

Hagrid looked at him from over the animal and sighed. This was why he shouldn't get involved with students. He hated it when they broke his heart with their troubles, usually troubles that no student should have to deal with. At long last…. "I knew that, kid."

"Oh. Yeah." He'd ended up at Hagrids this day last year, too. Was that weird? "Want…want help with the niffler?"

"Names Celia. She's a little feisty. You want'a hold 'er pups?" He nodded in the direction of several grey long things padding blindly around in a blanket. Dennis sucked in his breath and hurried over to the tiny creatures, carefully picking them up and examining them while Hagrid chuckled. "Yer not de firs'ta take a liking to her."

"Oh?" Dennis let the pup run up his arm and caught it when it began to fall. A tear splashed on the baby and Dennis wiped it away quickly. He shouldn't be crying. People didn't cry about something two years after it happened.

Right?

"Look in the envelope, kid." Hagrid said quietly, taking the pup from Dennis before the boy squeezed the life out of the little thing. "And I'll jus'…I'll be outside, eh?" Dennis watched Hagrid's retreating back and wished for the baby niffler he held in his great hands…

Dennis sat on the hearth, back to the fire, and poured the contents of the envelope on the ground. His arms and legs, all too long and splayed and gangly, were bent so he could lie on his back, face up, as he read the letter. The paper was worn from too many hands, too many passionate tales poured heartfelt onto one object. And the ring, big, bulky, expectant…

The more he read, the more Dennis gripped the ring. Finally, he could take the suspense no longer. With Fang the boarhound staring at him dolefully, Dennis decided there was no way he could be more disappointed even if the Ring didn't work. "Colin?" He asked the near-empty room, hoping against hope to see his brother.

A tap on his shoulder and Dennis whirled. "You remembered!" Colin said happily, and Dennis nearly burst into tears. Holding out his arms, Colin murmured, "bro, it's okay. Really."

But it wasn't. It was February and it was cold and it was Colin's eighteenth birthday. Worst of all, Dennis' older brother was two inches shorter than him. "How you been, kid?"

And Dennis remembered why he felt so happy when Hagrid started calling him that. "Not bad. Not great, but…" He couldn't stop it. "It hasn't been the same without you around. Mom…" But he couldn't talk of their mother, the muggle he'd had to lie to about her son's death, to keep her from knowing the truth about the Wizarding World. She would die if she knew the danger her sons were in.

"What's going on up there?" Dennis would be a liar if he said he wasn't insanely curious.

So Colin explained about the Marauders, who'd been getting younger and more out of control every day. He filled his brother in about Dumbledore, who had taken to going around town wearing purple robes and happily teaching to anyone who'd listen. It turned out that Colin was spending most of his free time with a house-elf named Dobby, with whom he'd opened a clothing store where no two items matched.

They had sat down by then, both on the ground, both sitting with their legs pulled up to their chests and their hands clasped over their knees. "Remember," Colin began, "when you were nine ---"

"And we were playing in mom's new car." Dennis shook his head, smiling. "You _always_ bring up this story."

"You decided you wanted to see Hogwarts." Colin remembered, eyes searching his brother's face. "And nothing I said could stop you. You pulled the emergency break and we started ---"

"Rolling. Backwards." Dennis rolled his eyes. "We were really lucky you could do magic or we'd have ended up in the lake." They sat for a moment before Dennis began, "Remember my first night in Hogwarts?"

"I remember you ended up in my bed." It was very strange to stare at your little brother and realize he was bigger than you, older than you'd ever be. "I never told you how happy I was we ended up in the same house." There had always seemed to be time for that kind of heart-to-heart conversation when they had "grown up".

"I never told you how much I liked having you as a brother." Now they weren't looking at each other but at the walls, the floor, their hands. Colin peaked at his brother, then Dennis looked up. They both smiled and openly stared.

"This is becoming a very girly conversation." Dennis pointed out, referring to something the boys usually avoided at all costs.

Colin nodded, "yeah, but it'll have to last us, like, seventy years. Knock on wood." And he did, just like they used to when they were kids. Glancing out the window, Colin said, "Looks like it's getting light out."

Dennis agreed, than confided, "I asked Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, and I think I'm going to stay at Hogwarts as Hagrid's apprentice." He didn't want to go back to the muggle world, where only his aging, disapproving mother waited. Hogwarts was his home, and Hagrid as good a friend as he'd made in six years.

"This is a good place for you." Colin said. He stood up, taking a last glance towards the hearth. "Thanks for the birthday present, bro."

Dennis nodded and they hugged, ignoring the fact that hugging was an extremely girly thing to do. "I wish you could stay. We need a couple decades more memories." _I miss you_.

"Right back at you, kid." _I miss you, too, little brother. _It had been five hours, and the sun was starting to seriously make its way into the sky. Colin took a tentative step towards the door, then another. He turned around just as the first ray of light hit him, just as he began to disappear. "Love you, Denny."

And Dennis was about to cry. He gestured hopelessly, somehow conveying his feelings in a few gestures, in a few words.

"Right back at you." He murmured finally, after the cabin was completely empty and the Ring had fallen from his fingers.

**I really don't know who to do anymore. Kreacher and Regulas? Is it time for the next generation? Teddy, maybe?**

**Please review and give us your opinions!**


	13. Two Years Later

"_Hermione, I couldn't leave him. See-he's my brother!" __**Hagrid**_

It had been two years since the battle of Hogwarts, the battle that ended the short-lived, bloody war. Two years since children stood against grown men, using nothing but their guts and cleverness and hope to defeat the greatest foe the Wizarding world had known.

Dennis Creevey pushed his hair out of his eyes and took a critical look at the handiwork. He and Hagrid had spent the last week or so digging a ditch around one side of the small cabin, getting it ready for stones to be laid in there. Dennis had been happy when Hagrid had taken him on as his apprentice - the first and last one the gentle giant would have. He was even happier when Hagrid had suggested, gruffly, that he might be needing a place to stay and offered up the old house as an opportunity.

"'Twas built afore me time, anyways. Mine as well pass 't long, like." And Dennis had thrown his arms around the man's great waist, the highest he could reach. The pat he received in return nearly floored him.

Now they stood together, covered with sheens of sweat that glistened in the morning sun, already hot. "We should get goin' Denny." Hagrid was the first to call him that since Colin, and Dennis found that it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. In fact, he glowed at the mention of the nickname, comfortable, familiar.

Dennis nodded absently, not moving. There was a ceremony at the school, of course, one that was going on as they spoke. People had begun arriving the night before…Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, the rest of the Weasleys, Dean and Seamus. Lavander. Cho. Michael Corner. There were more, too many to count, that had packed as if by invitation, though no one had mentioned it to each other, into the expanded Room of Requirement.

Hagrid had come, and Professor McGonagall and few other teachers. In all, they totaled around fifty, around the death count of the last battle.

Dennis had gone around to everyone to find out what people had been up to. He hadn't seen most of them since the double wedding the summer before and was surprised at some of their accomplishments. Oliver Wood had gotten Cho a position on Puddlemere United as a chaser and they were, apparently, an "item".

"Wish we had Harry." Wood said, glancing longingly in the dark-haired boy's direction. Wood was possibly the only person to view Harry, not as the savior of the Wizarding World or the Chosen One or the Boy-Who-Lived, but as a talented Quidditch player, a great Seeker.

Dennis smiled at this realization and excused himself as Cho came up behind Wood and put an arm around his waist. They both left to talk to Percy Weasley.

It did not come as a surprise to Dennis that the Weasley twins were at the center of the small party. Though he'd only been a second-year during their famous "escape" he still remembered them vividly. Other than Neville, he was probably on the receiving end of more Canary Creams than any other boy in Hogwarts.

The two men were telling a joke, finishing each others sentences in an animated, wild way that made Dennis almost believe they were eighteen, not twenty-two. It almost made Dennis forget that one boy was stuck in a frame while the other roamed free. It almost made Dennis forget his envy that Fred was allowed to crawl back into the world and Colin wasn't.

He turned quickly and ended up walking through Nearly Headless Nick, who was speaking gravely to Kingsley Shackelbolt, who Dennis only knew by sight and had never talked too. "Hello, Dennis." Nick said, staring at him intently. Dennis and others had plagued him with questions about death and ghosts right after the battle and Dennis had the queer feeling that Nick found him somewhat suicidal.

He hastily excused himself and threw an elbow out, nearly catching Luna on the cheek. "Hullo, Dennis." She said, her voice very different from Nick's…distant, caring, dreamy. She had a hand on Neville's shoulder and a wand tucked behind her ear. She was taller and (prettier?) than Dennis remembered, but she was still Luna, one of Colin's best friends.

Luna and Neville, it seemed, had been in the middle of a trip down memory lane with Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Ginny. The six had seemed to have jammed themselves into a secluded corner, away from prying eyes and repetitive questions.

"You should've heard 'Mione scream." Ron was saying teasingly. "_Oh my gosh, this thing's invisible. I'm riding something invisible! This can't be happening!" _Ron imitated in a high voice.

Hermione hit him. "I do not talk like that. And you weren't much better yourself. Luna said you shouted louder than a Crumple-Horned Snorkac when we landed!"

"How do you know what one sounds like?"

Harry had looked over the argument and grinned at Dennis, eyes bright and happy. "What's up, Den?"

Now, standing in what used to be Hagrid's pumpkin patch (they'd had to dig it up to make room for the addition) the giant was asking him the same question.

"Nothing." Dennis said, smiling slightly. The same reply he'd given Harry. "Let's go. They should be there by now."

"You'd think." Hagrid muttered darkly. "Those three will be late. Mark me words." Hagrid still referred to the Golden Trio as _those three_, neglecting Ginny not out of disrespect but out of long practice.

They were heading to the Leaky Cauldron. Neville had told Dennis about it the night before. "Only a few people are coming." A few to them probably meant the fifty in the room. "This guy, Ben, has been great about us all meeting there. We're going after the ceremony."

Straightening up, Dennis scrutinized his clothes. They'd do for a get-together at a pub, even if they were a little smudged with dirt. He hadn't had the time or money to buy new robes since the summer. "Ready, Hagrid?"He held out his hand, knowing that the giant, though he knew the principles of Apparition, disliked the process in practice.

"Been askin' you that fer an hour." Hagrid grumbled good-naturedly, laying one of his great paws on top of Dennis' slim hand. "Let's go. I haven't seen Tom fer a year."

As expected, there were more than a few people in the small bar. The crowd was almost identical to the one filling the Room of Requirement, except that now they were, if possible, more boisterous than the night before. As if they needed to make noise and laugh loud to prove that they, at least, were alive.

It occurred to Dennis that he was the youngest one there. It was only because of Colin that he had been in the DA to begin with; Colin had sneaked him to Hogsmead as a second year to attend that first meeting at the Hog's Head.

Stuffing his hands deep into his pocket, Dennis wandered over to the bar, not surprised to find the Weasley twins and Angelina Johnson already occupying prominent seats, though he was startled to see an unfamiliar face. This boy was tall, Mediterranean in features and quiet and slow in speech. He had a towel in his hands and laughed softly at all the jokes even as he wiped down the counter and filled glasses.

_The mysterious Ben_. Dennis surmised, and watched the boy carefully, believing him a thoughtful, polite, introverted person who, like everyone, had the general predisposition to love the Weasleys. Dennis thought he might have to visit the pub more often, for the boy fascinated him. He looked so _familiar_…

The thing in Dennis' pocket was getting warmed by the second, and Dennis wondered how to give in to the next recipient. He'd spent some time binding the loose pages into a small, leather-bound book to preserve them. He'd even added a pocket in the book for the Ring to slip in to.

Deciding to just get the deed done with, Dennis took his drink and wandered over to the group she was standing with. It was a simple matter, really, to slip the objects into her purse.

"Oy, Denny!" Hagrid called, his voice booming over the dull roar of the crowd. Flushed with the pleasure of the old nick-name, Dennis hurried over to the man who'd become his partner, roommate. Father.

**I just love Hagrid, and always thought he needed a roommate. So who got the Ring? Luna? Cho? Angelina? Hmmm….**

**Just so you know, the name Ben (for Draco's character) came from Star Wars. It was what Obi-Wan called himself while in hiding. Just some random trivia. **

**As always, please review.  
**


	14. Cho

"_Harry, I'm sorry but somebody's already asked me and I…I said I'd go with him."_

"_Okay. Great. No, fine." He turned, began to walk away, and turned back again. "Who is he?"_

_Cho stared at him. "Cedric. Cedric Diggory." __**Goblet of Fire**_

Cho Chang knew who everyone expected her to call with the Ring, but sitting in Wood's apartment, dressed in one of the Keeper's worn flannel shirts, wearing a ring given to her by him on her finger…well, she just didn't know anymore.

She had Wood had not been what you might call a "sure thing". At odds over everything from Quidditch plays to favorite bands to philosophical ideas, the two were almost polar opposites and always arguing. But it had been Wood who'd pulled a few strings and got Cho to be brought in after one of the Chasers was killed by a Death Eater.

And, actually, it was their arguments that brought the two conflicting personalities together. Cho found herself looking forward to the hours the two would spend after practice, sitting with coffee in a small shop, quarrelling back and forth.

Sometimes they didn't start a row. Occasionally (and these occasions usually coincided with world news, like another Death Eater attack) the two would reminisce about Hogwarts and assure each other that if anyone would beat Voldemort it was the "Chosen Nutcase who Lived."

"That boy was a born Quidditch player." Wood would lament, and Cho touched his arm and reminded him that the fate of the entire Wizarding World was resting on Harry's rather bony shoulders. "Well…" Wood would huff, "that won't take forever, will it? But the kid just _has_ to go into the Ministry."

They had both been invited to Bill's wedding, Wood by Percy Weasley, who asked the boy to go in his stead, Cho by Wood. They had both been there to witness the crumbling of the Ministry and that night, nursing minor wounds and terrified, they had comforted each other.

Together, they read as the papers became more unreliable and turned at last to the Quibbler. They read the front page, where a shop in Diagon Alley was attacked.

Cho remembered that day, because it was one of the few times off the field that she saw Wood truly unhappy. "Those stupid boys…" and he was talking about a pair of fifteen-year-old Beaters, a duo so loyal to each other and to their cause that they turned their precious shop into a battle ground and then took off with Lee, the boyish commentator, to report on the events.

They had been in bed when Cho's galleon, kept in her purse _just in case_ glowed white-hot. They had gotten to the Hog's Head three minutes later, were battling side-by-side twenty minutes after that.

And the weeks after the battle, it was Cho who Wood sought for in his grief. Together they mourned Colin Creevey, Fred Weasley, Professor Lupin…even Snape was cried over, bemoaned.

Two years later, they were still together. Two years later, they were due to be married, and Wood was seriously talking about switching over to the once-despised Ministry. "There's an opening at the misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office!" Wood would say, seeming excited. Cho would glance at him and half-frown.

"Why would you want to work there?"

"Cho," now Oliver frowned. "We can't play Quidditch forever. And I think one of us should work a little if we want to support kids."

Pretending she hadn't just dropped the teapot the seven inches into the sink, Cho began to hum loudly. It wasn't as if they'd never talked about kids before (both of them already had names picked out, none of which were plausible but were funny nonetheless). They'd even talked about changing professions. But suddenly, when Wood mentioned it the ring on Cho's finger got heavier.

"Baby?" Arms circled her waist and a chin, complete with stubble, touched her cheek. "I'm not rushing you, I'm being practical." He kissed her once, twice, three times before announcing, somewhat mournfully, that he had to take a shower before this interview and scampering upstairs.

Cho leaned against the sink, her fingers digging into the lip so much her knuckles turned white. She waited, unmoving, until Wood came back down, clothes on, hair brushed, jacked in hand. He looked so handsome Cho swallowed once before managing to get out, sincerely, quietly, "I love you."

Oliver crossed the room in four strides and picked her up off the ground, his large body easily enveloping her compact one. "I know. I love you, too."

It was right after her soon-to-be husband walked out the door that Cho began looking for that ring she'd found in her pocket four months ago after the second anniversary of the War. Something inside her needed to talk to him one last time. They say you never forgot your first crush, your first kiss. Cho never forgot Cedric.

He stood in the middle of the floor, and when Cho looked at him she immediately began comparing him to Oliver. Wood was broader, Cedric was taller. Cedric's skin and hair was darker, while Wood was light all over. Oliver's eyes danced whenever they fell on Cho, Cedric's smiled.

And when Cho saw Oliver, her stomach did a little flip when she imagined spending the rest of her life with him. When she looked at the boy who'd been dead six years, she sighed and bit her lip, trying to keep old tears at bay. That was the difference, in the end. Cho loved Wood, she felt sorry for Cedric.

He was smiling. Really smiling, the kind of thing she saw a lot before the War. Of course, Cedric had died at the exact (right?) time. It sounded horrible, but he was gone before the world he loved was turned on his head. "They've been talking about it, you know. Up there, the Ring's big news. Colin just got to see his brother, that little guy, and the Weasley twins are, like, Gods."

Oh. His voice. Cho had forgotten the smooth, sophisticated lilt to his accent, so different from Oliver's rich tenor. "Really?" She managed to choke out.

Cedric paced the room. "Who lives here? Other than you, I mean." He flashed a smile, one that used to make Cho melt, and instead she felt a pang. Cedric was a teenager. He was…younger than she was. When had that happened?

"Oliver…Oliver Wood." She smiled at the glint of recognition in Cedric's eyes, the softening of his expression. Wood was ruthless on the Quidditch field, animated off it, but he had a heart of gold and everyone around him knew it.

Cedric held her and Cho's body remembered how to mold to his, remembered where to put her head and how to tuck her hair behind her ear. Except this time, unlike every other time, she didn't feel the electric shock run between them, she didn't feel butterflies. That reaction was now reserved for Oliver. With Cedric she smiled and sighed and knew that he had died too young, too quick.

For many at Hogwarts, Cedric's was the first death they'd experienced. He'd been a nice person. It was a terrible word, _nice_, because it didn't' describe the way he would patiently coach a first year in Quidditch or proudly cheer on a friend. A lot of the students had felt _something_ for the boy, whether it be jealousy or pride or, in Cho's case, love.

Old love. Maybe it was true that time healed all wounds, even the open, flesh-eating ones that seemed to infect body parts before finally falling off. Though she'd always wished for another chance to hold Cedric, to talk to him…now that she was in her arms, she realized that he wasn't the person she needed. Not anymore.

"So you finally got over me? How long did it take?" He was teasing her. Cho had once said to Cedric that she'd never love anyone else. Now she looked at her feet, embarrassed.

"C'mon, Wood already graduated when I…left. One year? Two?" He was still smiling, his chin resting on her head.

Cho found herself shaking. "A couple months, but I never really…it didn't work out." At his questioning gaze, she sighed, "Harry."

To her surprise he smiled, squeezed her, looked down. "Why'd you want to talk to me, Cho?"

She didn't even know why anymore. She was not longer in love with him, not in a romantic way. They had shared memories together, but that was six years ago. She was going to be married. "I wish you could come to my wedding."

"I wish I could be there."

"I wish we could still be friends."

"I wish I was alive again." And this wish, spoken quietly, broke the spell. Cedric stepped away, fists balled, and once again Cho remembered that he was still, mentally, eighteen years old. Too young, with too much potential, to die so uselessly.

"I'm sorry." Cho said, just as Cedric said the same thing. They'd always been in each other's heads. Smiling a little, very slowly, very sadly, he kissed her gently on the lips.

"Goodbye Cho." He murmured, before leaving her for the second time. This time she watched him go, feeling sad but not devastated, knowing that she had a future ahead, one that didn't include him.

Later, when Oliver Wood walked in the door, he found his fiancé crying into her hands, the Ring and book next to her. He wrapped her in his arms and promised to make it better, promised that nothing would ever harm her. No matter what.

**It has been six years. I don't think a high school crush lasts that long. Wood is cute though…**

**As always, please, please review. **


	15. Luna

_"I still feel very sad about it sometimes. But I've still got Dad. And anyway, it's not as though I'll never see Mum again, is it?"  
"Er – isn't it?" said __Harry__ uncertainly.  
She shook her head in disbelief. "Oh, come on. You heard them, just behind the veil, didn't you?" __**Luna and Harry**_

Six months later, Cho was still playing Quidditch, but Wood wasn't.

He claimed he liked his job at the Ministry, joking that there was no better boss that Mr. Weasley, who could both talk animatedly for hours about the general uses of lightbulbs and be extremely sympathetic to the young man's need for a flexible schedule, especially with a baby on its way.

Often between plays, Cho would find her hand drifting towards her stomach to rub the spot she knew the baby sat, barely five weeks old. She already loved the baby, though she and Wood hadn't told anybody, mostly because Cho wanted one final season with her team. Quidditch being the sport it was, pregnant women weren't allowed on the field. But Cho would be careful, and she hoped that because of her job the baby would be born with a love of flying.

Wood still attended most matches and sat on the field when he did, hollering up at the players as if he was among him. Because he'd been on the team for five years before leaving, the captain, a good friend called Marley Robbinson, didn't complain.

It was after one of these games that Cho finally ran into the person she'd been waiting for. Since Quidditch season began, the young couple had had no time to visit the Leaky Cauldron and Cho had despaired of getting the Ring to the girl before the season was over. As it turned out, Luna came to her.

Cho had Luna had shared a House for six years, and had become almost close during their time with the DA. Cho doubted whether anyone actually came to be close friends with Luna Lovegood, for while the girl always said what was on her mind there always seemed to be that twinge of doubt just below the surface. But it was her good character and forthright personality that drew Cho to the young witch.

It had surprised Cho to see Luna at the game, for though the girl had showed great support for the teams with her odd hats she'd never tried out for a position nor seemed that interested in the game. But that day Luna showed up with two boys Cho knew from the DA and the Leaky Cauldron, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan.

Though Cho vaguely remembered the boys from her school days as being laughing, genial fellows with an inclination towards adventure, her strongest memory was of them at the battle of Hogwarts, fighting side by side with Luna, all traces of playfulness gone.

In that instant Cho knew that they were perfect for Luna, as they were both playful, easy-going men most of the time, but they possessed the same fire of spirit that Cho had seen flicker in the small blond. For the next two years she watched happily as the boys vied for Luna's affections. The Quidditch game was, presumably, an escalation to their wooing.

"Hello, Cho." Luna said happily, meeting up with the girl after the match. "I forgot you played for this team. It was a lovely game."

Only Luna would call such a thing 'lovely.' In that match alone, there had been a person removed from the field for excessive bleeding after being taunted by the opposing team until he ran into the ground.

"Yes, I guess you could call it that. Listen, Luna, there's so much I want to talk to you about. Are you free…" she trailed off as first a thin black hand, then a broad, tanned one landed on each of Luna's shoulders.

"Who're you talking to, Loon?" Seamus Finnegan asked, peering at Cho. "Oh, hello. We didn't know you were still playing. How've you been?"

"Married." Dean observed, nodding to the small diamond on her finger. "It'll be Wood, I'm betting."

Cho nodded. "Right. Almost as year now." She subconsciously crossed her arms over her belly, a gesture that neither of the boys noticed but Luna observed with keen interest. Though often thought of as being slow-witted because of her amiable, somewhat eccentric nature, Luna took some small pride in being able to read people perfectly.

"Dean, go get us a table, will you?" Luna asked quietly, prompting both boys to immediately depart, laughing between them. "What's up?" Luna asked, suddenly as close to serious as Cho had ever seen her.

"I'm pregnant." Cho said, confiding in Luna, the only person she'd told other than Wood about the baby. "And I want to give something to you."

"Do you want to sit down?" Both girls looked over at the boys lounging at the table, singing an old Irish song that Cho knew but could not quite place.

Shaking her head, Cho extracted the Ring and book from her bag. Something had prompted her to put them in there that morning; now she knew what it was. "No, you go on. Just…look at it, okay? And read the book. It gets interesting." Again, the girls eyed the boys. "Do you love them?"

"One." Luna admitted. "But I don't want to break either of their hearts." It was very close to being profound, and Cho found herself taken aback. She re-examined this girl, either eighteen or nineteen, as innocent as they came. Luna probably felt her stare for she smiled broadly. "But they're great fun. I never had brothers before." And she skipped away, forgetting to say goodbye.

Cho stared after her, promising herself to drop in on the Leaky Cauldron more often. Then she walked out of the small bar into the slight drizzle of the outdoors, thinking of her baby and Wood and knowing that she had a family to go home to.

Luna had fallen in love during the worst year in her memory. She had been held captive at the Malfoy's after enduring a harrowing first semester being hounded by the Carrows. But Dean, who was with her at Shell Cottage, a place where they both felt like outsiders living near the inner-circle of the Order, made Luna realize what she'd been missing before.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, it was only natural that she would hang out with Dean and, through him, Seamus. They all took another year at Hogwarts, she, Seamus and Dean coming back because they'd either been absent or too beaten up during their Seventh Years to get much out of the experience. They all graduated and got a small flat together. They all began working in the infant Ministry.

Luna was happy to be working closely with Ginny Weasley, who she counted as her best girlfriend. She and, through her, Dean and Seamus, stayed close with Ginny and the other Weasleys, often joining them for holidays or evenings at the pub.

But the thing Luna relished most about her life was being with the two boys alone, when they had just woken up, when they were walking to work (Dean insisted on walking, saying they all needed the exercise). The two were as close as brothers, which is why Luna felt terrible for loving Dean, because she knew that Seamus loved her, too.

It was, Luna knew, as bad as choosing George Weasley and telling him he could have no further contact with Fred, banishing the portrait to a little-used corner of the room. For while Luna didn't want anything to change in their relationship, she was feeling a new, burning desire for Dean, something she wasn't used to. Something new, and something she knew would never go away.

Which is why meeting Cho in that pub had been so good for Luna. When the Ring dropped into her hand, she knew exactly who she needed to talk to. Maybe she'd known all along.

She told Seamus and Dean that she wanted to go to bed early, that she was going with Ginny to a muggle flee market to pick up some furniture for the red-head's dreadfully sparse house. They bid her good night, Dean offering jokingly to go to bed with her. She shut her door in his face.

Luna closed the door and took out the leather-bound book, recognizing Dennis Creevey's work. She had gotten close to the boy, two years her junior, during the reign of the Carrows, and was happy to see that his apprenticeship with Hagrid, one of her favorite people on the Hogwarts campus, was paying off in such beautiful ways. Laying the book aside, she whispered a word she hadn't said in years.

"Mom?" She couldn't keep the question out of her voice and was surprised at that. Growing up with her loving mother and more-than-slightly-eccentric father had fostered a vein of self-assurance a mile wide, one that only cracked under extreme doubt. And wasn't it funny that she, who believed in Knargels, in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, would be doubtful of a Ring she knew must work?

In less than an instant her mother appeared and it struck Luna how very young the woman was. The next thing she noticed was how very alike their appearances were; both were blond, thin, and above average in height. She was, as Seamus and Dean reminded her on a regular basis, "a looker."

"Mom." She said again, and was about to ask her the regular questions. _How are you? Are you okay? Are you happy?_

With a wave of her pale hand her mother dispelled all these questions. "Don't bother about me, dear. I hear _boys_ in the next room. What are you doing?"

And the whole story came out, in a weird sort of order. "Seamus and Dean, mother. They're…they're good friends of mine."

"Boyfriends? Wizards? How old?"

"No, not boyfriends. Not yet. I like one of them a lot. Yes, they're both wizards, both half-blood or less." She blushed as she mentioned this. Blood status had mattered so much three years ago, until it had suddenly been relegated to the place it always should have been; an after-thought, something less than not important. "My age. Well, one year ahead of me, but close enough."

"Cute?"

And then the words spilled like a dam had broken and Luna couldn't get enough. "Oh, mother, he's beautiful. I wish he could come in here so you can see him…" she trailed off, looking at the door, but knowing that she wanted her mother all to herself for these few precious moments. "He's tall, and handsome, and black."

"Which one?"

"Dean." And wasn't Luna always talking about Dean? It was he she loved, though she couldn't imagine her life without Seamus in it. Would he bother with her if she rejected him? Would he be angry that his best friends was picked over him. "And mother…" should she mention this? "I love him." And there it was, out in the open.

Her mother sighed, the noise sounding like a breath of fresh air, and pushed a piece of hair behind Luna's ear, looking straight into her eyes. There, Luna found a difference between them. Her mother's eyes were as yellow as gold, while Luna's own were a pale, pale blue. "Does he love you?"

She didn't even have to think. "Yes." He'd told her as much, repeatedly. But they both loved her, that was the problem.

"Then I think you know what you have to do, love."

"But…" This wasn't helping at all. Luna bit her lip, looked at the ceiling. Like her bedroom in her father's house, she'd drawn on the ceiling here, since her room was the only place she didn't allow the boys in. On he smooth surface she'd drawn the two most important people in her life and herself in a triangle connected by the same words, over and over, _what should I do?_

"Honey, if these boys love you as much as you say they do than they will find some way to make it work." They were sitting on the floor now, knees touching. Luna wondered vaguely how they had gotten there. "And another thing…these boys have probably figured out your feelings by now."

"Really?" Everyone, Hermione and Ginny and Angelina and Fleur, were always talking about the stupidity that was boy.

"They're not as dumb as you think."

They had many more conversations that night, and with each passing minute Luna became more and more sure about what she had to do.

The next day, after staying up the whole night with her dead mother, Luna cooked breakfast. When she put the plates in front of Dean and Seamus, she kissed Dean full on the lips.

From the other side of the table, Seamus muttered, "finally."

**Oh, I just love Luna. I hope we did her justice. Also love Dean and Seamus, and couldn't just let htem go unmentioned. **

**Anyways, please review. **


	16. Bill

_Harry had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy; fussy about rule-breaing and fond of bossing everyone around. However, Bill was - there was no other word for it - _cool_. _**Goblet of Fire**

When the Ring first slipped into his pocket, Bill couldn't think of a thing to do with it.

Ginny had somehow convinced him to go shopping with her, Luna, and Fleur. A few of the other girls were there, too…Hermione. Angelina. The trip had been uneventful, except for when the darkest girl took Bill aside when everyone else went into one of the stores.

"Bill, will you come over here for a moment?" Angelina pulled him away and the two walked down a small side street, pausing at a fountain filled with rusting cherubs. "It's George," she murmured, staring into the shallow water, marveling at the funny, tiny coins littering its depths. "He's distraught."

"Why?" Angelina and George had announced their engagement just a week before, to much delight and very little surprise. Three years was a long enough courtship for the Weasleys. "Getting cold feet already?"

When she shook her head, tiny red beads at the end of her tightly braided hair clicked together. "Its Fred. He…he's gone."

"Gone?" A slow, slimy, sick feeling was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach. Bill remembered the last time someone had told him those exact words. It had been Charlie, intercepting him at the entry to the Great Hall. Three words, and Bill's heart had stopped for an instant. "Gone where?"

Ever since the battle, the twins had gloried in their luck, in Fred's ingenuity to be able to escape death in such a tangible way. George never treated Fred as anything less than human and the rest of the family, taking their cue from him, were sure to speak to Fred as if he were any one of the other brothers.

Angelina pursed her lips. "We don't know. George is going mad trying to find him. First we thought maybe he'd just slipped out of his portrait. He likes to hang out with some of the ballerina girls from the portrait in the muggle shop near ours. But he isn't anywhere."

Fred wouldn't leave George voluntarily. Even though only a few years had passed, it was obvious that Fred grew along with his twin. The two still remained identical, though they hadn't been mistaken for each other in years.

Another memory bombarded Bill. It was a week before his wedding and Charlie had finally come home. Only Bill and the twins were awake at three-thirty, sitting in the dining room talking as if they were teens, as if there was no war. Charlie walked in the door and the twins immediately stood to play their old game, "Which one is Fred?" They asked in unison, hands clamped tightly over their ears, smiles stretching across their faces.

Charlie had crossed the room and one by one pulled the twins hands from their heads. "'Lo, George." He murmured when the dark hole was uncovered. George had looked up at Charlie, the only one in the family taller than the twins, and smiled sadly. Never again had Bill seen any sort of negative emotion from the twins about the gaping hole in the side of George's head. After all, the twins lived to make people laugh.

"I know you have it." Angelina murmured, and Bill vaguely wondered if this was the first time two people had acknowledged the existence --- and circulation --- of the Ring. "And I know it's selfish to ask you to put aside any loved ones you wanted to talk to. But…please?"

It broke Bill's heart that she even had to ask. Had Bill known of this plight --- and he would put George in a headlock for not telling him, or any of the family, for that matter, about this first thing. Had Bill known of George, of Fred…of course, those would be the people he would help.

Maybe this would be a time of firsts. It was a little over three years since the Battle, and everyone, at least according to the letters that Bill read later that night, had trudged through the past to find peace, to find answers. Maybe Bill would be able to preserve the future.

Bill was not a person for regrets. He never regretted, never resented his childhood, which was happier and more loving than many people with more material possessions. He never regretted going to Hogwarts the night the Dark Mark burned in the sky, even if it did result in being attacked by Fenir Grayback.

He did regret his actions in the last battle. He regretted calling for Charlie, his favorite brother, and dragging him into the fray. Charlie broke his collarbone.

He regretted not speaking to Percy. Percy, who all of them must have thought about often in the past years, must have been the loneliest of the Weasleys. Too far behind in age to be friends with Bill and Charlie, he was forced in with the younger set. But as those directly beneath him were twins, it made getting into their inner circle difficult, nearly impossible. For the night of the Battle, Bill didn't speak to his younger brother.

He knew that all of the Weasleys, and good few others, regretted not being there when Fred died, mostly because they all thought that they might have been able to prevent it.

And, irrationally, he also regretted not being with George the moment Fred was killed. They were told by Lee, who spoke in a quiet, hollow voice, that George had collapsed in the middle of battle, even though no spell had hit him. Lee had dragged him out of the battle and had been there when George woke up, crying, already knowing everything.

Fleur had happily left Bill alone that evening, scooping a teething Victoire off the floor and promising to be home in the early afternoon. After pecking the man on his scarred cheek, she Disapperated to Ginny's place on the younger girl's request. Fleur had an innate talent for arranging furniture.

As soon as she was gone, Bill acted. He drew the Ring from his pocket and murmured, "thanks, Loony," before saying in a low stern voice, nearly a growl, "Fred!"

He appeared looking chagrined, sheepish, surly. "What?" The red-head crossed his arms, stubborn as ever, and Bill couldn't help marveling at him. Though Fred had technically died at twenty years of age, he was still an exact replica of his twenty-three-year-old twin.

"Are you insane?" Bill had hoped to God that the Ring couldn't have worked. He knew that Neville, by George's will, had tried to call Fred with the Ring. It hadn't worked, which confirmed that the Fred in the portrait was an actual, living, breathing, miniature Fred.

Fred glowered at him, and Bill remembered the last time Fred had looked like that. They had been standing outside the Burrow while their mother had tried to regrow George's ear. Fred had begged Bill to be allowed inside and Bill, trying to rope in the frayed edges of his brother's sanity, had denied and held him back while inside a low moan escaped the one-eared twin.

"Do you have any idea what George is going through?" Because Bill did. He had abandoned the shopping mission to comfort the remaining twin. As before, when Fred had actually died, George had collapsed within himself. He didn't smile, or laugh. He simply sat there, staring at the framed picture where Fred used to sit. Even when Bill had told him his plan, George had merely looked at him, confused. Lost.

"Yeah, well, he's the one who off and got married."

The great thing about the twins is that they didn't take very long to get to their point. They were loyal and funny, but they were simple people. Bill nodded at Fred's outburst and stepped aside as George walked in, shaking, just as indignant.

It was very interesting to watch the twins when they fought. Really fought. It was a rare occurrence, but no one could hold grudges longer, or fight harder. It was because they were so close that they had so much ammunition to use, and often did. They fought dirty, like children, and had no boundaries.

"You're mad because I asked Angelina to marry me?" George's voice was loud and he advanced on Fred. "You're the one who told me to go out with her, to make sure no one else got her. I _told_ you that I was going to ask her!"

"I didn't actually expect you to." Fred's voice was sharp and cold. "Not so quickly."

George rolled his eyes. "I don't see why you're so upset. She's already living in the shop! The place has turned into a frickin' boarding house." He was talking about Lee, who was his assistant in the shop and ran radio program out of the attic.

"I don't mind that you're sleeping with her. It's about time you got some." Did Bill mention that the twins fought dirty? Though he had to admit that Fred was the worst of the two.

"Like you ever did." Then again, George was no angel either.

"More than you, Lugless." Fred's eyes narrowed and Bill sighed, he could recite this part from memory.

"Jealous."

"Pig-headed."

"Immature."

"Traitor."

And Bill knew what was coming before the word was even out of George's mouth. Sometimes the twins went too far. "Dead."

A flicker of hurt flashed in Fred's eyes and Bill knew the fight was over. Sometimes all it took was a moment of intervention, and big brothers were the best for that job. Smiling, Bill waited.

And waited.

"I'm sorry." George muttered. Neither could stay mad at each other for long. They had grown up side by side, joined at the hip. It was hard for them to forget that fact. Red-heads are renowned for having a fiery temper, but no one ever mentioned that they were quick to forgive.

"'S okay. I guess I am jealous." Fred touched George's arm and they both started, then laughed quietly, sadly. "I've been right next to you since we were born, but I haven't been able to touch you for three years."

"Is that a joke or an innuendo?"

"The truth."

"I know. You're be best man. I'll invite those ballerinas from the Leaky Cauldron." A pause. "You know I'd give anything for you to be able to get married, too."

"Even your other ear?"

"Well, maybe not everything. But you should be able to walk around, date." George coughed, and Bill smiled. "You know that I always looked forward to a double wedding?"

"You know that you're a romantic sap?"

"Yup."

"Good. I'll forgive you if you name your first born after me."

"Forgive me for what?"

"Somebody called me dead." Bill thought that now would not be the best time to point out that Fred was, in fact, dead. No one ever bothered to mention that, except for the twins. No one else could get either boy as riled, or let them be as compassionate.

"What if it's a girl?"

"We'll talk about that." They had hooked arms, their hips touching, identical smirks on both faces. As one, they spun to look at Bill.

"Thanks, bro." And Bill could only shake his head at the perfect harmony of the sentence said in unison. George turned on his heel and the two Disapperated, leaving Bill alone with the Ring.

The oldest brother had a lot of responsibilities. He was always told to look after his siblings, and, even though they were all fully grown, Bill still did. He had to learn when to stand back and let things take their course and when to step in to help the people he loved most work out the hard things. Like love, or jealousy, or death.

He also got to watch the great things, the miracles. Like his only sister falling in love, or the heart of the family coming back from the dead, sticking around in 2D to joke with his only twin.

**Is it too obvious that the twins are our favorites? **

**Anyways, review.**


	17. Draco Unmasked

"_A boy's been crying in here? A young boy?" __**Half-Blood Prince**_

The Golden Trio was twenty-three years old, five years out of Hogwarts. Harry was a successful Auror and was keeping busy wrapping up the fragments of Death Eaters who had escaped death or imprisonment after the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione taught at a local school for young witches and wizards, ages five to eleven. She wrote several novels in response to the public's overwhelming need to know about the hunt for the Horcruxes.

Ron continued to toil in the joke shop, working alongside George. He smiled often, but would always laugh too heartily when Harry told of his exploits as an Auror. He had never quite let go of that childhood dream, and secretly thought he'd be a very good fighter. However, he never regretted being near to George during that terrible month where Fred remained dead. During that time, they had become closer than ever, and Ron was pleased to realize that George was the brother closest to his heart.

So Ron worked in the most famous shop in the Wizarding World, getting better at both Charms and Transfiguration than he had ever been in school. He realized now that the twins were brilliant, much smarter than their OWL scores let on. And they were funny, which was always a perk.

Often times, Ron would end his evening at the Leaky Cauldron with Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Angelina and George. Fred would be propped up on the table, happily reaching for a flask of fire whisky (Mrs. Weasley was outraged to learn that Hermione's spell was only one-way. As soon as Fred got his hands on food or drink or anything else to bring into his portrait, no one could take it back).

Lee and Percy, who worked at the Hogsmead branch of Zonkos, usually showed up at the bar with Charlie. The second-oldest Weasley had developed a close relationship with Ben the bar boy, and it was the two of them, plus Percy and Lee, who were often ridiculed jokingly for not being married.

It was on one of these nights that Ron found himself sitting at the bar with Lee, Charlie, and Ben. Hermione had gone home after kissing Ron for so long that all his brothers began to jeer. The others had disappeared to their own pursuits, leaving Ron with the bachelors.

Ben had become a good friend and a loyal confidant. He was a man of few words, and would only smile broadly at the twins' best jokes. Ron had never seen him laugh.

Charlie had finished telling a story about a dragon named Aether who had swallowed one of his friends whole. "Luckily, Aether isn't too big on a chewing, and Joshua still had his wand. He managed to pull off a choking charm half-way down Aether's throat, and the big guy coughed his right up. It was damn funny, because the dumb dragon wouldn't stop hiccupping for the rest of the day."

It was hard to imagine a dragon hiccupping, but once Ro n got the picture in his head he started to laugh into his butterbeer.

"Seamus and Luna were here earlier." Ben said suddenly, leaning on the mop he was using to clean the Leaky Cauldron. "They wanted me to extend you all an invitation to a wedding."

"Finally." Lee muttered. "They've been about to tie the knot for two years now."

"Hmm…" Ben nodded, nudging Ron's chair with his foot and causing Ron to overbalance and knock over the pitcher of butterbeer.

"Hey, watch out!" Charlie called, his wand pointing at the glass and firing a spell just a second too late. The container shattered, spraying the honey-like liquid all over the newly polished floor.

Ben's bare feet and legs were covered in shards of glass and the mop fell from his hands as he gasped in surprise. The other boys were already on their feet, and Ron mopped up the butterbeer while Lee and Charlie brought Ben over to a chair.

"Ouch." Charlie murmured sympathetically, examining some of the deeper cuts. "These are pretty deep, Ben."

"I can feel that. Can you take care of it?" Ben's hands were brushing reflexively up and down his torn legs and he let out another small gasp of pain as one of his hands was sliced open by a piece of embedded glass.

Lee caught Ben's hands in his, stopping them. "Don't move, dude. Charlie's got this."

Working with the dragons made the red-head in question no slouch when it came to healing spells, but he felt out of his depths with these cuts, which were bleeding particularly badly. "God, Ben, I've seen dragons give worse wounds. You have seriously bad luck."

"Must be karma." Ben laughed, his spine arching when Charlie began pulling the glass from the wounds. "A little gentler, Char, please."

Charlie's rough hands were transformed with his friend, gently pulling each piece of glass free, siphoning off what blood he could with his wand. Even so, a red puddle was forming at Ben's feet, which Lee was intermittently cleaning with his own wand.

"This isn't right." Charlie muttered, his fingers holding open a particularly nasty wound as he checked for hidden glass, which could infect the cut. "Ben, it's almost as if you have two layers of skin. Like…like Tonks, or someone who had…"

Someone who had transformed their appearance.

Things began clicking in Charlie's head. This was Ben, his best friend since the war had taken those closest to him…Mad-Eye and Lupin and Sirius. This was Ben, who showed up the summer after the last battle, who had once returned Percy's coat to the Burrow even though none of the Weasleys had ever mentioned the address, an old habit from the war times. Ben, who was from America but knew a lot about Hogwarts, who listened attentively but never said anything about himself.

And when he held Teddy, on those very rare occasions when the boy would climb up on the counter and Ben would bundle him off of it, the tiny Metamorphmagis' hair would turn a white-blond, so different from Ben's dark brown.

It was like looking at a puzzle you were so used to being uncompleted you had almost given up, and then someone gives you one hint as to the answer. Everything fell into place, and Charlie stood up, drawing his wand and backing away from Ben as quickly as he could.

"Charlie? What's the matter, mate?" Lee's voice was easy, calm. He had not seen was Charlie had, could not know. He thought this was some kind of joke.

"Get away from him, Lee." Charlie's voice was low, menacing, and Lee looked at him, head cocked to one side, his hands still wrapped around Ben's…

Not Ben's.

"That's Draco Malfoy, Lee." There was a crash in the back, and Ron appeared suddenly, skidding to a halt in front of Ben/Draco, who did a great job at feigning innocence.

"Who's Draco Mal-i-foy?" The boy asked, mispronouncing the last name. "Charlie, really, I'm bleeding here."

"You're crazy, Charlie." Ron said, shaking his head. "I _knew_ Draco. He made my life Hell for six years. He almost killed me with that poison, remember? But…this is Ben. Not Draco."

But Charlie continued to stare at the boy in the chair, blood slowly dripping down his legs, but dripping in large enough amounts so as to make his eyes unfocused. "Charlie, please."

In two steps Charlie had placed himself in front of Ben, his wand held against the boy's throat. "Tell the truth. You are Draco Malfoy, who plotted for a full year to kill Albus Dumbledore, who opened the doors of Howarts to the creature who nearly killed my brother. Tell. Them. Who. You. Are." Charlie dug his wand into the boy's throat, his own head spinning.

He liked Ben, who told jokes in such a deadpan that everyone else was falling off their seat with laughter, who had managed to support himself without parents of any kind. Charlie always admired him for that, for his independence, since so much of his life was based around his family. Now he knew that it was because both of the Malfoys were in Azkaban.

"Draco died." Lee said, his voice beginning to hold a trace of doubt. He stared at Ben, and took his hand away from the boy. Lee's hand came out stained with blood. "He died in the battle."

"We never found his body." Ron piped up, staring hard at the boy whose eyes had grown round and pleading, big as saucers. "I looked. We never found anything."

Charlie drew his wand back, trying to rally his courage for what he had to do. He counted Ben as his best friend, which made this so much worse. "I like you, Ben. So choose…tell them the truth, or we'll have to get it out of you."

Ben's eyes..for they were Ben's eyes, compassionate, gentle, easy-going. Not the cruel, cold ones of Draco Malfoy. Ben's eyes locked onto Charlie's and he hung his head, ashamed. "I was young. My parents…my father thought that I was his way out. You-Know-Who wanted to kill him. He thought that if he…sold me into His service that his life would be spared."

"Don't blame this on your father." Lee said, his voice harsher than Charlie had ever heard it. "You were a foul pig at school, with your blood-status and tormenting the Weasleys."

"I've changed. Charlie, please believe me. I'm a different person." And Charlie wanted to believe him, so much. He had never had a friend like Ben before, who listened, truly listened, and offered what advice he could.

"You almost killed two of my brothers." Charlie said quietly, remembering the messages he'd received in Romania, terrible messages about Ron, about Bill. It was after Bill's attack that Charlie had put in for a transfer. He didn't like being so far away from his family. "I never forgave Draco for doing that to my family." Blood would always be thicker than water.

"I would never hurt you, Charlie. Please…." The cuts on Draco's legs had bled so much that Charlie, standing almost two feet away, could feel his blood soaking into his shoes. Draco would die if he was let to bleed out for much longer, and the boy had no wand, no bandages, and probably no strength to help himself.

"After the war…I didn't know what to do. I came to the Leaky Cauldron because I had nowhere else to go. I had no money. No real friends. Tom took me in, and I'll always be grateful to him for that. And you, Charlie…you saved me. I never cared about my life, not ever, until you and your friends included me. But if I hadn't changed my appearance, you would have clapped me in irons and let me rot with the rest of my family and friends."

"Which is what you deserve." Ron said, though not as convinced.

"You liked Ben." Draco whispered, his voice going soft as he drooped in his chair, shock beginning to set it. "You liked _me_ before you know who I was six years ago. And Charlie…" Eyes forcefully opened and stared at Charlie. "I like you. God help me, but I do. Believe me."

Ben had been Charlie's friend for six years. The two would go out on Saturdays and unsuccessfully try to pick up girls. Ben would tell him the best gossip and Charlie would explain the difference between a Norwegian Ridgeback and the Siberian variety. Draco had done his best to kill Dumbledore, had almost killed two of Charlie's own family.

But what if he hadn't meant to? What if he really was misguided, misunderstood?

"Charlie." Ron murmured, and suddenly the twenty-three year old member of the Golden Trio was seven, and asking his older brother for advice. "Charlie, he'll die." There was sympathy and compassion in Ron's voice, and Charlie knew that the boy had reached the same conclusion he himself had.

"I'll bandage his cuts, Charlie. You keep him alive." Lee was on the floor, ripping up napkins, a dirty tablecloth. Charlie went to Ben's head, checking for a heartbeat, a pulse, breath. The boy had gone into shock, but with any luck he'd live.

It was the relief Charlie felt at that realization that made him see what he had known all along. Just as Ben couldn't help but to care for Charlie, so the red-head had no choice but to love the boy back.

Kneeling there, next to his head, Charlie smoothed back Ben's wiry black hair, so different from the fine blond of Draco, and touched his cold cheek. "I forgive you, Ben. I forgive you."

Sitting there in the Leaky Cauldron, the two blood traitors and a half-blood saved the life of Draco Malfoy. They didn't know it then, but they would be friends for the rest of their days, and to them, and the rest of the Wizarding World, the biggest traitor to come out of Hogwarts would always be known as Ben.

**Well, he had to come out of the closet some time. **

**As always, please review. **


	18. New Additions

"_Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." __**Deathly Hallows**_

It was quite possibly the best moment of Harry's life. Better than beating Voldemort. Better than winning a million games of Quidditch. Better than when Fred came back through the veil, and when Ron twitched in his arms after he'd shoved that bezoar down his throat.

"You're pregnant?" Harry's words were low, rough, pleading. They hadn't been trying to have kids…what twenty-three year-olds are? They already had Teddy, now a beautiful, rambunctious five-year-old who Harry saw at least three times a week. Without even thinking, Harry put his hand on Ginny's stomach, imagining he could feel a pulse, a kick. "How long?"

Ginny smiled, kissed him on the lips. "Five months." She whispered. "I would have told you earlier, but I wanted to make sure…my mother had three miscarriages between Percy and the twins." Harry hadn't known that, but had always wondered, vaguely, about the strange seven-year gap. She pressed closer to him, kissed him, murmured into his mouth, "It's a boy."

Those were the words that made Harry collapse into a nearby chair, bought two years ago on a shopping spree. He was going to be a father. He was going to have a son. "Teddy?" He asked, remembering a promise a seventeen-year-old had made to his favorite teacher.

Ginny kissed him again, and Harry noticed a bump that definitely hadn't been there before. "Teddy will come over every week, as always. He will be happy to have little brother."

"Who knows?" And now all Harry wanted to do was tell everyone, the whole world that he would be having a son. That he would be a father.

"My mum knows. I told her as soon as I found out. And Hermione, Luna, Fleur, Angelina…" she trailed off, blushing. "Sorry, love, I was a little excited."

And Harry found out that you couldn't be angry with the person carrying your child, especially if you loved her. "That's okay. Of course it's okay…" he trailed off, thinking ahead. "Ron?"

"Is as dense as you are. He knows nothing, and I told the girls not to tell any of your friends." Ginny smiled. She had a dimple of her left cheek, one that Harry found himself wondering if he would one day see on a young boy's face. With a quick wave of goodbye, a last pat on her belly, and a peck on the cheek, Harry turned on his heel and Disapperated.

He always liked going to the shop. It was one of his favorite places, because he could always find at least a few Weasleys running around. Ron looked happy here, and though Harry knew that sometimes his best friend wished he had become an Auror like they planned, Harry was relieved that he was no longer leading Ron into danger.

It was near closing time, and Ron and George were sweeping up while Fred played babysitter to Victoire, now three, and baby Dominique, Bill's second daughter. "Oy, Harry, pass me that baby!" Harry laughed and tapped the portrait. Once, Fred had conned George into bringing him to a zoo. There was now a giraffe wandering around in the world of pictures.

"Hey, Harry." Ron leaned on his broom, surveying the shop. Because there were so many charms and spells in so confined a place, the two proprietors never used magic to clean up. "What's up?"

Harry smiled broadly and clapped his friend on the back. "I have great news. Can you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron in an hour?" He looked over at George, now bouncing Dominique on his hip. "I need to get everyone together, George, can you contact Lee and Charlie?" They'd bring Percy with them.

"Charlie's there already, I bet." He looked at Harry strangely, slyly, and Harry suspected that the red-head guessed what was going on. "I'll warn them you're calling in the old hands, though."

Nodding, Harry clapped Ron on the back and Disapperated again, this time outside of a windy Irish pub on the outskirts of Dublin. He poked his head inside, happy to see the people he'd come to find. Cho, Wood, Luna, Seamus, and Dean were sitting at a corner table, laughing. Harry noticed that Luna was wearing bright orange robes, and Dean's hands were burned. They all turned and beamed at Harry, the girls standing up to kiss him on the cheek.

"Would you all mind moving this over to the Leaky Cauldron?" Luna and Cho exchanged a knowing look and nodded while Wood berated Harry, once again, for not showing up for the latest Quidditch drafts. Ignoring his former captain, Harry smiled, waved, and left the bar.

It didn't take long to find Hagrid, crouching with Dennis Creevey in thriving garden behind his expanded cabin. He gave Harry a one-armed hug that cracked his ribs as much as it ever had in school. Harry turned to Dennis and asked, quietly, "You able to Apperate?" He didn't want Thestrals showing up at the Leaky Cauldron. Ben would have a fit.

Dennis looked affronted, then laughed. "Harry, I'm twenty now." And Harry shook his head at that, able to remember Dennis, dripping wet, perched on a seat next to his brother in the Great Hall. They'd all changed since then.

"Tell Neville, please, will you, Den?" Neville taught at Hogwarts, now, as a Herbology teacher. Dennis nodded, smiling at Harry's twitchiness, his excitement. Harry couldn't help it --- he was going to be a father! Smiling, he Disapperated again.

Charlie was already sitting in the bar, talking to Ben. The bar boy had basically taken over the establishment from the aged Tom and had announced, proudly, a few weeks ago that Tom had named Ben his heir. Looking between Charlie and Ben, Harry noticed a difference between them. They were quieter, and when Ben gently touched Charlie's arm the red-head looked up, his eyes softening. They looked like two people attempting to apologize.

"Hey, Harry, I heard you were bringing in a crowd tonight." Ben leaned across the counter. A man of few words, this was a speech for him. "What's the occasion?"

Harry shrugged, smiling, and asked for a butterbeer while he waited for the others to arrive. They trickled in slowly, Percy and Lee first, their hair slick with rain, shivering even though it was supposed to be June. Dennis and Hagrid showed up, also wet, Dennis swamped in one of Hagrid's huge coats. Harry smiled into his butterbeer…he' d always been of the opinion that Hagrid would do well with a son.

Ginny came in at the same time as Luna, and the two girls were already smiling together, leaving Cho to talk to Wood, her arms wrapped around her own child, now two and looking at Harry with large black eyes. Seamus and Dean were laughing together, and Harry found out that Dean had been burnt during a Snorkack adventure gone awry. Seamus had managed to kill the thing --- it had turned out to be a Kappa --- before anymore damage was inflicted on his friend, but still found it entertaining to tell the tail.

The person Harry most wanted to see brought up the rear, his hand clasped in the small, delicate one of Victoire who skipped happily beside Ron. Though Dominique, clutched by Fleur, had inherited the trademark red hair, it seemed to have skipped over the eldest, who could have been a miniature of her mother.

It astounded Harry how fast they were growing up. Already his friends were married. His first crush had a child. Hagrid seemed to have adopted. He was married himself, to the love of his life. Ginny herself showed up, holding a squirming Teddy, today lithe and dark-haired, like his father, in her arms. She was radiant.

Everyone talked and ordered drinks. Ben left Charlie to the bar while he hinted strongly at remaining patrons to take to their rooms and began sweeping up. Stories were swapped --- Cho had left the dangerous aspects of Quidditch to bachelors and had moved to the managing side of things. Grawp had been taught to plow by the ever-patient Dennis. Hermione had expanded SPEW to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

A half-hour into the festivities, Harry found himself walled by Ron and Hermione. They stood the same way they had for twelve years, and Harry found himself smiling at them, over them, happy to see everyone he loved in the same room. They had suffered losses, more than he could count, but somehow everything had turned out okay in the end, and Harry liked to think that he had some small part in that.

Going back for the Ring had been a treacherous move. He had taken one look at the Great Hall, filled with the dead, the grieving, at George, who had the shell-shocked look of someone who didn't quite know who they were anymore, and decided that he couldn't leave things like that. It was his fault people were dead. He should be able to comfort those left behind.

The idea of circulating the Ring began with wanting to make Ron smile. None of the Weasleys could be happy without the heart and soul of the family, and the twins had always come in a pair. So Harry left the Ring to George, and stepped back to watch things happen.

And things did happen. Fred came back. Hermione, who had been sullen and depressed the summer after Hogwarts, laughed again. Dennis and Hagrid found a companion in their loneliness. Percy fit back in with his family. Ben became everyone's best friend.

Harry liked to think that he had a part in that. He liked to think that, after all the misery he caused, he had given back in one small way. The Ring had disappeared, and after Cho Harry couldn't mark its progress with certainty, though he had a feeling that it had a hand in getting Luna together with Dean, with helping the twins make up after their historic argument.

Smiling at his two oldest friends, Harry reached out a hand and tugged Ginny in front of him. "Everyone!" he called out, and people turned to look at him. His scar hadn't burned in five years, and he had no real wisdom to speak of, but people still listened to him. His friends still respected him. And that was all that mattered.

Kissing Ginny, Harry nodded to his wife, knowing that this was really her moment. The red-head had tears in her eyes when she said, happily, "I'm pregnant."

"I knew it!" Ron thumped Harry on the back before pulling his sister into a hug. "I knew marrying him would get you into trouble one day!" But he was smiling, laughing, and Harry smiled back.

Wolf-whistles and shouts of congratulations came from everyone. Hagrid gave Ginny the gentlest hug he could, already planning with Dennis to make a crib. Wood and Charlie tousled Harry's hair and gave him ridiculous name ideas. Ben kissed Ginny on the cheek and shook Harry's hand, his dark eyes surprisingly green. Bill, with a sleeping Dominique on his shoulder, told Harry that he would make an excellent father.

George came up, holding Fred under his arm, much to his brother's protest. "Sorry to do this to you, mate, but it's too perfect to pass up." Harry nodded, hesitant, expecting a prank or a joke.

Turning to face the crowd assembled, George said, loudly, "Everyone, Angelina and I have an announcement to make."

To Fred, Ron hissed, wide-eyed, "She's not..I mean, they're not going to…."

Angelina smiled at Ginny, her brown hand lingering over her own belly. "I'm pregnant, too."

Amidst a new round of cheers, Angelina and Ginny began asking each other about due dates (George's baby would be born a week before Harry's) and Fred yelled at George, loudly, "You'll name him after me, right?"

"What if it's a girl?" George asked from his choke hold in Hagrid's arms.

"Fred's a good strong name for a girl." The man in the picture pointed out, and George turned him over, disgusted. Fred shouted muffled swears until Teddy took pity on him and put him right side up.

"Blimy, we're going to have child service's at the shop every _day_." Ron shook his head and Lee laughed, asking Harry, "Would you mind if I mentioned this on the air, Harry? First son of the Chosen One and all."

"Only if you don't call me the Chosen One." It was a pact Harry had with the slightly older man. Lee could say whatever commentary he wanted on Harry's life --- with discretion --- as long as he referred to him as Harry Potter. Not The Boy Who Lived or a Nutcase or the Chosen One. Just Harry.

Lee winked and went to put George in a full-body-bind curse, much to Fred's amusement.

"You're going to be a father, Harry." Hermione's voice was soft, and it occurred to Harry that she was envious that he got to go through this first. "Congratulations."

"Yeah, really, mate. This is great for you." Ron put an arm around Harry's shoulders, one hand shoved deep in his pocket.

Harry turned to him, smiling, "I know it's a little early, but you'll be godfather, right?"

Ron's smile grew larger, if possible. He hadn't yet had the honor of being a godfather, having only nieces, and their godmothers were Ginny and Luna. "'Course, Harry." He looked like he wanted to say more, but he was suddenly conscious of his brothers surrounding him and settled for an extra large swing of Butterbeer.

Later that night, with Ginny sleeping next to him, Harry had his first doubts about fatherhood, which struck him as being ironic. He'd already vanquished the biggest threat to the Wizarding World, and yet he was more nervous about being a father than he had been walking into that battle. And, Harry thought, that was the way it should be.

**I know, I know, two chapters in a row without the Ring. The next ones all have that little thing in them, so stick around. **

**Everyone's happy! How did that happen?**

**Please, please review. **


	19. Ron

_"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" chimed in Professor Flitwick. "Inseparable!" __**Prisoner of Azkaban**_

"I can't be godfather!" Ron ranted, his feet trailing a path in the floor. He was at the shop, having stayed there after hours while George went home.

"You'll do a damn sight better than me, now sit down, you're making me dizzy." Sirius was sitting on one of the shelves, looking taller and younger than Ron had last seen him…was it really eight years ago? "Go over it once more, slowly…why are you such a terrible choice?"

Ron opened his mouth to list all the reasons…and there were so many. The closest he'd gotten to parenting was taking care of Teddy for a weekend, he and Hermione watching the then-three-year-old. And Teddy was easy, having inherited his father's even disposition, even if he did have Tonks' clumsiness.

"First of all," Sirius said, not letting Ron speak a word, "you're Harry's best mate."

This was indisputable. Yes, he, Harry, and Hermione had been, and still were, the 'Golden Trio'. Yes, the three of them had been inseparable, but between Harry and Ron there was a friendship that was deeper than the one Ron had with anyone else, including Hermione. He loved his wife more than anything in the universe, but Harry was the first one he came to when they got in a row and he wanted to vent, the one he went to Quidditch matches with and fought beside during the war.

"And if, God forbid, _my_ godson dies, along with Ginny, in some sort of freak accident, you are the go-to guy for child care." This was true, and Ron had to nod again, his mouth already open to return with his one point, his only fact.

"Sirius, I have no experience with children." George, heaven help them, was having a baby, so was Harry. Bill had two. Cho had one. Hermione, bless her soul, hadn't pushed the point. Yet. But it was only a matter of time before she, too, wanted to have a child. A family.

Sirius turned his head sideways, thinking about this. "I wonder if I can still turn into a dog."

Ron gaped at him. "That was…completely unhelpful. Thanks."

A wolfish grin was his answer, and then sitting before him, long black tail wagging, was Padfoot. "Come on, Snuffles, I need answers." But, Ron had to admit, it was nice to see Sirius as they had first known him. A terrible black dog that was after Harry's life. What fools they had been at thirteen…ignorant of so much, yet always so sure of themselves.

Another grin, this one even more wolfish than the last, and Sirius was back as a man. "Sorry, Ron, but I promised James I'd find out."

"Can you change…over there?" And they both knew what he was talking about. In heaven, limbo, beyond the veil, wherever the Marauders and so many others had gone.

Sirius smiled a true smile. "You can do anything, be anything…its amazing." Then a different look, this one reproachful, fearful, "But don't you go checking it out ahead of time."

"I won't, I have to stick around here, remember? To be godfather to your godson's son…or daughter." It was Wizarding tradition to not know the sex of the baby before it was born. The only means they had of guessing were old superstitions, passed down from muggles and mothers.

Back on track, Sirius sat in George's favorite chair, a deep purple on, and spun himself in it, looking for all the world like a child. "You have plenty of experience with children. You have six siblings, don't you?"

"That's different, I'm one of the youngest. You don't have to do much at the bottom, and you don't have to lead, either."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Listen, Ron, you cannot possibly do any worse than me. Jailed for thirteen years, was accused to plotting to kill his own godson, any of this ring a bell?" A strange look came over Sirius' face, and Ron glared at him, wary. It was the same look Harry had whenever he had an idea. "In fact, that's why you'll make a great godfather."

Ron shook his head, "What?" Ron could never follow conversations well, especially ones happening in other people's heads. Maybe it was because he himself always spoke his thoughts aloud.

"Remember the first time you met me?"

Ron let out a puff of breath that made some of his hair float up, making him wonder, abstractedly, whether Harry's baby would have his black hair or the standard Weasley red. "You broke my leg, it's hard to forget."

Sirius winced. "And I'm still sorry about that, but later, when Harry joined us, what you said to me. Remember?"

To be honest, Ron remembered very little of that night. A haze of pain had fogged most of his memories, plus he had sustained a concussion, courtesy of Womtail. And, since then, ten years had passed, and several other important nights came with them. "No, I don't remember."

Sirius spread his hands, like one spreading cards, knowing that they've won. "You said, 'if you want to kill Harry you'll have to kill us, too.' That's the perfect attitude for a godfather, for any father."

"What, suicide? We had no idea who you were, and I basically just gave you my permission to kill me _and_ Hermione. It was pure idiocy."

"Pure reliability, and devotion. You, my dear Weasley, are a Gryffindor through and through, I'm afraid. Stubborn and egotistical and loyal to a fault. The perfect make up for a godfather."

A large hand descended on his shoulder, the same place all of his brothers went when they were trying to drive a point home. "You'll do just fine, Ron. Don't worry."

Ron smiled, a true, happy, relieved smile. "You think?"

"Yeah, I do." Sirius was backing away, looking towards the Ring. "Take less time to call on us, huh? We haven't had any updates in a long time…who had it last?"

"Bill. He gave it to me. Knew I hadn't yet had the pleasure." Ron quickly filled Sirius in on the twins' argument, lamenting the stupidity of the older twin. Sirius, however, took a different view.

"Dumbledore's been wondering when Fred was coming back. He was a big fan of Beetle, but you know that. Said he never heard of anything like it. To tell you the truth, I think the old man's upset that a twenty-year-old found out how to cheat death and he didn't. But Dumbledore's been saying Fred's probably hurting, wherever he is…wonder if it's true."

Ron shook his head. "Fred's fine. He's stubborn, and thick-headed, but if he were in pain he'd tell George."

Sirius looked at him strangely. "Would he? He came all the way back from Death to be with his favorite brother. Do you think he'd really tell him that the pain was too much and he had to go back? From what I know of Weasleys, they don't play like that."

Shaking himself, Ron managed to find his voice at last, "Fred's fine." He repeated, finding himself talking to an empty room and a golden ring.

**Ron has self-esteem issues, and Sirius is cocky. Take them both and they make a whole person. **

**Please, please review. **


	20. Dark Insurrection

"_What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does." __**Hagrid**_

Ron peered over the top of the stack of boxes to peer at a customer. "Can I help you?" He asked, his arms shaking just enough to make one of the containers of Nosebleed Nougat to fall off the precariously stacked pile. The witch caught it deftly and handed it back to him with a smile before exiting the shop, not buying a single thing.

"Weird." Ron muttered to himself, pushing a box onto one of the shelves. He could hear Fred and George chattering in the back room but no other sounds and knew that, once again, the shop was deserted. The middle of the day was always a slow period for Diagon Alley, and it was the time Ron liked the most.

He had memorized all the aisles years ago, and now went over to the hangman, his favorite contraption. In five years he hadn't beat the game once, though Bill had once told him, laughing, that the twins taught his model particularly difficult and exotic words. It was their favorite way of teasing the youngest brother.

Just as he was settling down in front of the man, who Ron liked to call Filch, somebody apparated onto his legs.

"Oy! George, I thought you installed that…" The words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him. Springing to his feet, he yelled loud enough to bring George running.

"Harry…oh, blimey mate…" Harry had already sunk to the ground, his arms wrapped around two other people. All three were injured, bleeding so bad that the red had already nearly washed Filch away.

Behind him, Ron was aware of Fred dashing off, most likely to his other portraits in the old Zonko's shop, the Burrow, the Leaky Cauldron… was aware of George, more adept at triage than Ron, kneeling in front of Harry, disentangling the bodies to reveal Seamus Finnegan and Justin-Finch-Fletchly, the two men that formed Harry's small team in the Auror department.

It was Justin who was hurt the worst, with gaping holes in his chest and stomach and more, slightly smaller ones on his head, legs, and back. Seamus had similar wounds on his legs, but Ron had to lean close to hear his breathing. Unlike Justin, who was screaming loudly until George put him into a deep sleep, and Harry, who was coughing up blood, Seamus didn't move at all.

"What happened?" Ron asked Harry, pulling his best friend close to him. He knew that of the three, Harry had gotten out the most intact, but it was him that Ron instinctively reached for. He had to know that Harry was alright.

Blood ended up on Ron's purple robes, and he quickly stripped out of them, ripping them to make bandages that did nothing to staunch he blood. George had already used his own set as a blanket, coving Justin up while he muttered spells to try to stop the bleeding.

"Harry, what happened?" His voice was sharper now, higher, Ron's mind already going in a hundred different directions. They had taken down most of the protective charms around the shop, because they kept going off whenever a new product was exhibited. If a new Dark group had sprung up, and was heading to the shop, they would be unprotected.

Harry opened his mouth again, and Ron noticed that his lips and teeth were stained red. They needed a hospital, or at least somebody with more medical experience. "Justin…hurt bad…okay?"

Ron glanced over, able to see only one side of George's head and none of Justin. He stared at his brother, looking directly at the hole where the ear used to be, before turning back to Harry. "He'll be fine." Ron assured his friend, his lie coming out wobbly.

"Seamus…_Crucio'_d….minutes…." Which explained why he was so unresponsive. A leap of terror, and Ron's heart was in his throat. He had roomed with Seamus for seven years, and the two remained on excellent terms, both having an easy-going personality and no charms with women. There was no cure for the Cruciartus Curse.

Ron leaned closer to Harry and noticed that his friend had lost his glasses, which could explain why his eyes didn't fixate of Ron, and seemed so unfocused. They'd have to find another pair. "Who?" Ron asked, the one word coming out soft. He didn't really want to hear an answer.

Harry's response was a breath, a whisper, before the younger man became limp in Ron's arms, but Ron managed to catch the name, and felt himself bristle and become hot with anger. "Goyle."

Charlie was the first to arrive, and took over care of Justin while George moved to Harry, much to Ron's dismay, and Ron scooted over towards Seamus. Within ten minutes, more had arrived because of Fred's frantic race through portraits, chief among them Hermione and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who added their first aid skills. Ginny, Dean, and Hannah Abbot all arrived in a rush, hurrying over to their loved ones.

It was Hannah who cried first and loudest, her wail arching over the small crowd that had arrived in the disarrayed shop. She was beating her fists into Charlie's chest, and the older red-head did nothing to stop her, instead putting his arms around her and drawing her close, murmuring into her hair as a baby wailed between them. Justin was dead, leaving behind his wife and son. He was the first battle casualty since the war.

Harry was stabilized quickly and hovered anxiously near Hannah, trying to console while still gaining his strength after a collapsed lung, several broken bones. In the end, he took the baby, named Perseus, from his mother and nestled him in his broken arm gazing vaguely around until Ginny brought him an extra pair of glasses.

Dean crouched next to Seamus, rocking back and forth on his heels. No one could get Seamus to wake up, though he still had a pulse, was still breathing. Ron remembered Mrs. Longbottom, Neville's mother, in the closed ward, and shook his head, willing Seamus not to be lost to them. Neville himself showed up unexpectedly, having fled Hogwarts at sound of the news, bringing the Gryffindor boys together again.

"Who did it, Ron? You know who did it?" Dean's whisper came twenty minutes into his watch. By then they had brought Seamus into a back room and set him on a couch, leaving the chaos of the people behind. Bringing the boys to the wizarding hospital had been suggested, but after the war no one seriously went to St. Mungose. The place had been infiltrated at such a level that there were still Death Eaters working there, disguised.

An internal debate lasted a fraction of a second, but Ron knew he had to tell the black boy. Dean and Seamus were as close as he and Harry. Closer, as Ron knew that the two boys lived with Luna in a strange symbiotic relationship that seemed to work for the three involved. He would want to know, if it had been Harry. "Goyle."

This revelation surprised everyone. Later that night, with Seamus in the back room with Dean, and Justin spirited away by Hannah for the mandatory three-day vigil, Perseus left with the girls at the shop, Harry spoke in a dead, hollow voice to a group of men in the flat above the shop, a steaming glass of firewhisky in front of him.

All the Weasley men were there, plus Ben, Lee, Kingsley, and Neville, when Harry told them the events. "I had just put in for leave, for when the baby is due, when Kingsley gave me the memo. We've been getting a lot of reports of strange sightings around the old Marvolo house, and he wanted someone to take a look.

"So I took Seamus and Justin, my little team, around to the house, expecting to find nothing. Maybe a few kids. Maybe, just maybe, a left over Death Eater." Quite a few had been rounded up in the past few years, making the entire Ministry on edge. Exactly how many people had Vodemort recruited before his death?

"There were…a dozen people, at least. I was dueling with someone from the minute I got in, and they weren't new at fighting, either. It took me ten minutes just to have time to look around for Seamus and Justin." Harry froze there, until Kingsley prodded him on, his voice calming and gentle. They needed an official report. Ron squeezed Harry's hand, feeling at a loss and wishing Ginny or Hermione were with him and not baby Perseus.

"Seamus…Seamus had gone right after Goyle. Did him a good number, too, except he always fights fair. Those Death Eaters had no trouble with using the Unforgivables or a few _Sectumsempra_s on us, and that's exactly what they did. Seamus must have been pinned for…six minutes, maybe seven, by the time I got to him, and Goyle does a pretty strong _Cruicio_, right, Nev?"

Neville nodded sagely, remembering the many times he'd gotten detention with Crabbe and Goyle. Their favorite was the Cruciartus Curse, and they were good at it, but even the Carrows only allowed the curse for a minute or less. Six minutes would surely cause you to go mad...the best reports on his parents revealed that they had been under the effects of the spell for a little under ten minutes.

"I hit Goyle from behind with an _Expelliarmus_. Oh, here's his wand." Harry handed Kingsley an ugly stump of a wand, which the man pocketed. "And grabbed Seamus. Everyone had Disapperated by now, so I could see Justin…" here Harry's voice took on an old, bitter tone that Ron remembered from years ago. "They had been torturing him, only they used _Sectumsempra_ and others I don't recognize…I knew as soon as I grabbed him that he was bad. I was already covered in blood, but I could barely hold on to Justin…"

Through this, no one had made a sound, though Ron noticed all his brothers tightening their fists in anger and frustration and, probably, grief. They had all thought, like Ron and Harry had, that the war was behind them.

"I'm sorry." Harry murmured, as an afterthought, "For coming to the shop. I didn't even think that they might be following me. It was the first place I thought of." Which was odd, to Ron, though fitting. People tended to congregate around the shop, and every one of their friends stopped in more than a few times just to check up on everyone else. Other than the Leaky Cauldron, it was the best place for gossip.

George barely acknowledged the apology, so meaningless it was. "It's fine, Harry, we're just glad you're alright." He said, voicing the sentiment of all present. Though they were all surprised and saddened by the sudden death of Justin Finch-Fletchly, a boy, Ron knew, that was no older than the Golden Trio, it was with Harry that their loyalties lied, and it was Harry that they would congregate around during this second wave of Death Eaters. And, Ron imagined, they still believed that Harry was "the Chosen One," that he was fighting for something, even after Voldemort's death.

From across the table, Ben spoke, his words carrying more meaning by the very fact that he usually uttered so few. "I've been keeping this a secret…for too long, it seems." They all stared at him as he turned a few shades whiter, his paleness reminding Harry of another, more familiar, pale face. Charlie Weasley's hand tightened on Ben's arm and he shook his head minutely, though the warning went unheeded, or perhaps unseen, as Ben continued, his voice surprisingly calm, "I'm Draco Malfoy. I want to help."

**So there wasn't the Ring, though I'm sure you can imagine that the next few chapters will see it be used by very different people, Seamus being among them. **

**Review!**


	21. Battle Brewing

"_If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love….to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever." __**Dumbledore**_

Harry was on his feet in an instant, all pain gone from his body. Draco Malfoy…that couldn't be possible. He'd died in the Battle.

Surprisingly, alarmingly, Ron and Lee didn't leap to their feet like the rest of the table, rushing to subdue Ben who had his arms up, who let them manhandle him. "Ron…?" Harry questioned, looking at his best friend, who sat staring at his hands. Ron _hated_ Draco, had been on the receiving end of his insults every day of Hogwarts.

"Get _away_!" It wasn't Ben/Draco who shouted that, but Charlie, his wand raising high, placing himself in front of George and Kingsley, who were both attempting to restrain Ben. "I said _get away_ from him!"

From underneath Kingsley's leg, Ben's voice drifted out, small, timid, so different from Draco Malfoy's cool, indifferent tone. "I...know….Goyle." He panted, the words a strain from his position. "I want..to…help."

"Get _off_, Kingsley!" Charlie was mad with rage, pushing against the older man with all his might, forgetting about wands and magic.

"Charlie, it's Draco Malfoy!" Fred cried from the table, his voice high and indignant.

"Don't you remember ---" George continued.

"What a git ---"

"Not to mention cold-blooded murderer ---"

"He was?"

"I've changed!" Ben wailed, Kingsley still above him. His face was open, imploring. "I'm different!"

"Like Hell you are!" George said, pointing his wand and uttering a curse of his own making, one that would make the victim suffer the same effects as ten pieces of Fever Fudge.

Lee sprang from his chair, knocking it over and grabbing George's arm a second too late. The curse had already fired only to be intercepted by Charlie, who threw himself in front of Ben.

From the floor, Charlie stared up at his brothers, his father, his friends, and down at Ben. His best friend. His lover. "He's changed." Charlie asserted, his eyes already glassy from fever, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "He's…he's _Ben._" And with the last painful assertion, Charlie reached over Kingsley's arm and kissed Draco full on the mouth.

Harry and the others stared, dumbfounded. There was nothing, nothing anyone could do now. No one would be willing to take Draco into custody, hand him over to the Dementors, hold a trial, if it meant that they'd be ripping him from someone who loved him.

No one, in the entire history of the Wizarding world, had ever been able to resist a Weasley's plea.

"Charlie?" Arthur asked, kneeling next to his son, whose skin was cold and clammy even as he sweated. "Are you _certain_ that he is not a threat?" He asked, not only for the safety of the Wizarding World, but for the safety of his unmarried son, who had just told a room full of some of the most influential Wizards in the country that he was in love with one of the most hated fugitives in the country.

Nodding, Charlie grabbed for Ben's hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "Sorry for that, Benny." Charlie whispered, his voice ragged. He had never kissed the bartender before. He had never even discussed a relationship with the other man.

But, impossibly, wonderfully, the hand under his squeezed back, a warm light on the darkest day, and even after a death, after seeing another man slip into a coma, after hearing a friend's account of Death Eaters still in their midst, Charlie Weasley was happy. "I…I love you, Charlie." Ben whispered, and Kingsley got off of the boys.

No Death Eater was capable of something as human, as raw and vulnerable, as true love.

Charlie, still shacking in the throes of the curse, hauled Ben to his feet, staring at the boy incredulously. In a few seconds, Ben had managed to sustain two black eyes and a broken nose. "Wow." He coughed, then looked over at George. It seemed as if his brother couldn't speak, or wouldn't, then, meeting Charlie's eyes, he blushed, abashed.

"Fred?" He prompted the portrait, nudging it, making the occupant inside's own slack-jaw come together. The small man muttered to himself, then, withdrawing a wand, murmured the counter-spell to the Fever Curse.

A hand descended on Charlie's shoulder just as he breathed a sigh of relief, the tension of the fever abating. He looked up into the face of his favorite brother. Bill's heavily scarred visage was further twisted by worry, "Charlie…" he murmured, glancing between the dragon keeper and the bartender. Charlie nodded, and Bill wrapped him in a one-armed hug.

"Take care of yourself, bro." Bill said, and Charlie knew that he wasn't talking about the next day or year, when they would be, once again, thrown head-first into a dark insurrection. No, his only older brother was thinking ahead, to a future where the "open-minded" Wizarding World shunned those who were different. Lupin and Bill had experienced it as werewolves, or parts of one.

Even the enlightened Wizarding World frowned on homosexuality, even if love was supposed to conquer all. If Charlie stayed on this path, his life would be turbulent, uncertain. But he smiled at Bill and hugged him back, recognizing this as a blessing.

Ben looked at Harry, his eyes wide, his dark complexion suddenly pale. "Harry…let me help." He cleared his throat, looked away, "Please."

In uncertain times, people found themselves doing things they would never do otherwise. For over five years Harry had thought the worst evil was gone from the world, but just that day he'd led another man to his death. "Yeah, sure." He turned hard, whirling to Ben, "If you do _anything_." He warned, thinking of Charlie, of the Weasleys, of the Wizarding world.

Ben smirked, looking something like the old Malfoy. "I've been mixing your drinks for five years, Potter. If I'd wanted to off you, poison would have been easy." Realizing his words, he shot a look at Ron. "Sorry." He apologized, and Ron shrugged, remembering sixth year, six years ago. They had been very young then. He himself had changed so much, and Draco had changed even more.

It was the twins who took the longest, who kept their wands pinned on Ben even after Charlie had sat next to him. But even they could tell that the second-eldest was smitten.

"Goyle is strategic but not very fast." Draco attested, getting down to business. "If you let him sit he will accumulate forces behind him, but if you strike soon --- tomorrow --- he won't be ready."

"They'll have left the old Marvolo house," Bill pointed out.

"The Goyle's own a lot of land near the Southern moors. I would check there first. If you gave me descriptions of the other Death Eaters I could probably point out other locations, but the Goyle's is probably the place." He thought for a second. "You should probably check out the Zambini's too. Blaize was always hanging around us in school."

"Anywhere else?" Percy was scribbling on a piece of paper, Hermes perched on his shoulder. "Where should this go, Kingsley? The Auror department?"

"Yes." Kingsley's voice was measured, slow. "And if time is off the essence we should be there by dawn. Harry, can you be there?"

Harry thought of Seamus, unconscious, possibly out of his mind, in the back room downstairs, of Hannah and Perseus and Justin's face as he died, and nodded. "I'll be there." He glanced around at the table, then at Kingsley. "Looks like we need all the help we can get."

"I was thinking the same thing." Kingsley murmured. "The Auror department really is too small to tackle this new insurrection on its own."

George smiled happily, clapping hand down on Ron's shoulder. "Think we can convince the girls to stay out of this?"

"Not a chance." Ron replied, thinking of Hermione, how she invented spells in the heat of battle, charms that could save a hundred people. He turned to Harry, "I'm with you mate."

Draco chimed in, "Me too." Charlie seconded him, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. Percy proclaimed that he never was good at fighting, but he would stay with Fred in the shop and they would take in casualties. He was already writing to Madame Pomfrey to see if she could make herself available.

Arthur was the embassy to the girls, putting in the stipulation that Ginny and Angelina couldn't fight, that they were living for two, after all, but Luna, Hermione, Fleur, and Molly were ready to go.

"I can't believe it's come back to this." Ron muttered. He and Harry were in a corner of the attic, watching George argue with Lee. The black boy wanted to fight but George insisted he stay behind, since he would be relaying any messages one squad had to another.

Harry nodded, "I thought all this stuff was done after Voldemort." He fidgeted, "I hate waiting. I hate not knowing what's going to happen."

Ron nodded, looking at Percy's growing list of people to contact, people willing to fight, to die, people they'd grown up with. "It'll be okay." Ron assured the scarred boy, even though he had no way of knowing, even though in the end all Hell might break loose.

**Next chapter is Seamus and Dean, then the battle, then more Ring, we just love writing this story.**

**Review?**


	22. Dean

"_Hello Seamus, Dean. How was your summer?"_

_"Pretty good. Better than Seamus'." **Harry and Dean, Order of the Pheonix**_

Upstairs a war was being reluctantly planned; downstairs, Dean tried to hold onto his best friend.

He and Seamus had been thrown together in first year, partnered up in Transfiguration in the morning and Potions in the afternoon of their first day. After figuring out that Dean was far ahead of Seamus in potion-making (he was more patient, and read instructions well. He thought the whole thing was an easy O, since you were given exactly what needed to be done), and that Seamus was Dean's superior where it came to charms (Dean wasn't that inventive), they helped each other with homework.

Both watched with a sort of vague interest, or perhaps it was just boyish curiosity, as Harry became the talk of the school after allegedly stopping Voldemort in First year, after supposedly going into the Chamber of Secrets at the end of Second. But these things happened far away from their little world of schoolwork and home life and girls.

Seamus had confided to Dean…oh, it must have been when they were sixteen at least…that he'd never been quick at making friends before. It wasn't that he wasn't funny (he was) or sociable, but he'd just never had time: he was the man of the house, and with a borderline-schizophrenic mother (the one who'd said she didn't trust Harry or Dumbledore) and three younger muggle sisters, he'd had to make due on his own.

They'd bonded over that in their later years, both lamenting their lack of fathers. The crisis reached an all-time high when Dean was forced to drop out of Hogwarts his Seventh year because he couldn't prove his parentage contained wizards, having a muggle mother.

"How can they say you're mudblood!" Seamus had roared when Dean told them. They'd been sitting on Dean's flat roof, overlooking several other apartment buildings and a rather dingy street.

"Don't use that word, Shay." Dean murmured, taking a swig of butterbeer. "It doesn't suit you."

Seamus looped an arm around Dean's shoulders, his freckled hand lying against Dean's black torso. "You can't leave me, Dean." The words came out in a whisper, which made Dean look up. Seamus was an out-of-practice Stoic. He never showed actual emotion, preferring what they now secretly dubbed as the 'Fred and George' route of laughing and smiling when all you wanted to do was cry. It worked surprisingly well.

Now, in the backroom of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which was covered in blue prints, pieces of parchment with various spells crossed out, and a board that took up an entire wall with a math equation (at the bottom was the solution, with an arrow pointing to it saying _Told you so, George. You owe me a galleon!) _Dean whispered the words Seamus had said to him almost seven years ago. "You can't leave me." His voice cracked and he hiccupped.

Seamus had been covered in dirt, in blood, both his and Justin's. Hermione had been the one to work on him, carefully sealing the cuts. "What happened?" She had asked Dean, who, after he heard about Seamus, had not moved from his friend's head, not even for Luna, but it was Neville who answered. "The Crutiatus Curse."

And Dean had stared at Neville, who looked so different from the moon-faced, shy boy of eleven that he had first met, and remembered that his parents had been tortured into insanity by the Callows. But that couldn't have happened to Seamus.

After Justin had been pronounced dead and Perseus was left by his mother in the capable hands of the girls, Harry had come to kneel next to Dean, completing the Gryffindor boys that had slept in the same room for seven years. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

"Don't apologize, Harry." It came automatically, because Dean _knew_ Harry, knew that he would have done everything in his power to make sure Seamus stayed out of harms way, knew that it had to be an accident. It had to be.

"Still…I should have been more vigilant, like Mad-Eye was always saying, you remember, 'Constant Vigilance.'" And Dean did remember, remember the mad teacher from ten years before.

"Shut up, Harry." Of course, Dean knew that Seamus' job was dangerous, but he also remembered how happy Seamus had been when he'd passed his Auror exam, when he was put, by request, on Harry's team. And they had thought themselves invincible, like they had at The Battle of Hogwarts. They'd survived that, why not a simple career?

The door of the back room opened and Ron shouldered his way into the crowded room. "'Ello, Dean." He glanced down at Seamus, laying still, too still, on a comfortable bed of Kingley's making. "Any change."

"None."

Ron paused for a second, then brought his hands out in front of him. In one was a book, in the other, a shiny band. "It's the Ring, the one that brought Fred back. Remember The Tale of the Three Brothers?"

Dean shook his head, "raised by muggles, Ron." He reminded the boy gently. "But I kind of got the gist. Luna's been saying…it brings back people who…" he choked, unable to finish his sentence. "But Seamus isn't dead!" This was a truth, for Seamus was breathing, had a pulse.

"Maybe you can coax him back, his mind." Ron put up his hands, and Dean saw that he'd grown as well. "I'm not guaranteeing it will work. Maybe he'll wake up on his own, but he was…he was _Crucio'_d for a while, Dean." He paused for a second, blue eyes imploring, sympathetic, "Harry says he was very brave."

"He is brave." Dean murmured. "Really. He may be a stubborn bloke, but he's no coward." He was braver than Dean, more of a man that Dean could ever hope to be. Seamus and Dean had both pursued Luna ever since they got out of Hogwarts, wooing her, flirting, living with her, but when Dean was chosen above his best friend, Seamus had genially stepped aside, watched the love affair unfold with a slight smile.

He'd been best man at the wedding, and gave a toast that made even old Professor McGonagall cry.

"I know that, Dean." Ron turned towards the door, left ajar, letting sounds of people, boys, readying for battle drift in. "You try it, Dean, and see if he's in there."

After the door closed, Dean stared at the Ring. It was heavy, cold, and felt powerful, right, in his hand. It wasn't a secret, not really, not in the circles he ran in. Fred had been brought back six years ago, and there really was no other explanation for that. Plus, Luna, one late night in bed, had told him about seeing her mother.

"When you were young?" He'd asked, playing with her corn-silk hair.

"When I was twenty. Is that young?"

"Seamus?" he muttered, staring at Seamus' body. If Seamus did come, that would mean he was dead, if he didn't…well, Dean didn't know which one he wanted to happen.

He waited a breath, in which his heart pounded hard and his gaze alighted on everything in the room, waiting.

"Am I dead?"

He whirled around, saw Seamus, dressed in the exact same clothes as the Seamus on the bed, standing upright near the door. The standing Seamus looked at his body, then looked up at Dean as he collapsed to the ground, head in hands.

"I can't be dead. We were just…investigating, that's the word Harry used. In and out. An easy day. Me and Justin were laughing about it."

"You're not dead, Shay, I swear." Dean kneeled next to his friend, put out a trembling hand to touch Seamus' arm. "You're…you were hit with the _Crutiatus Curse_."

"What?" Seamus gaped at him. "No I wasn't…" but his voice trailed off as he thought about it, then said, quietly, "Goyle was there."

"Yeah."

"He attacked Harry, obviously. I got…oh, maybe eight of them on me. Justin got even more. They pinned me to a wall…" His voice was rising in pitch, speeding up as he recalled the events.

"It was…Blaize, Blaize Zambini. He started in with the…the Curse. Everyone else just joined in. I might have blacked out….I did, after about six hit me." He stared at his hands, at the wall, at the floor, anywhere but Dean, and that's when Dean realized that his best friend was crying.

"It was worse than the Carrows, worse than Crabbe and Goyle." Dean didn't know what to say to that. The four other boys in Gryffindor Tower had often been woken by Seamus' nightmares of his detentions the year that Snape was headmaster.

When asked why Neville never had similar flashbacks, the boy-man would always reply, very sadly, "They didn't want to spill too much pure blood, so they'd take Seamus a lot. When it got bad, he'd have detention every day. I'd be in the room by myself, waiting for him to get back in."

But Seamus, sitting on the floor, huddled in on himself, looking at his body, draped across the cot, then at Dean. "Is Harry okay? Justin?"

"Harry's fine." _Planning another war, but other than that_. "Justin…Shay, I'm so sorry."

Seamus physically flinched away from the words. "No. No way, we were just talking…this morning."

"I'm sorry." Dean said again, then reached out to touch his friend, happy when he didn't pull away. "Seamus?"

"Yeah."

"Don't leave me."

Seamus turned to Dean, his eyebrows raised with surprise and a little distaste. Though Dean wasn't afraid of telling his best friend how much the boy meant to him, Seamus flinched from any such displays of emotion. "Wasn't planning on it, mate." At Dean's continued imploring gaze, he sighed, groaned, and stood.

"Harry's planning a war?"

"Yeah."

"Then he'll need all hands on deck." Seamus crossed to his body, flashing Dean another one of his boyish smiles. "And somebody needs to watch your back." He pressed his hands down of his chest, murmured, 'Man, this is weird," then, something like, "God, I'm handsome," laughed, then disappeared.

"Seamus!" Dean was on his feet, surprised, outraged at such a dirty trick. The Ring tumbled landed with an empty clang on the floor. "Seamus!"

And, amazingly, alarmingly, the body on the bed reached out its arms and grabbed the black boy around the waist. As the Dean sunk into the embrace, he heard Seamus murmur, seriously, "I would never leave you."

**They're adorable. **

**Next chapter's the battle. No idea who'll die, but someone it totally biting the dust.**

**Then…oh, we have little Teddy and the Next Gen, plus assorted house elves. Yup, pretty full. Please review.**


	23. This is War

"_To the well-organized mind, Death is but the next great adventure." __**Dumbledore**_

They would be attacking at dawn, with forty people against whatever power the new Death Eaters had been able to muster.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, astounded things had come back to this. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had become a central meeting point, and nearly all the troops were milling around, tense, waiting. In one corner, Madame Pomfrey was setting up an aid station, Lee, convinced to stay behind by a frantically pleading George Weasley, hovering nearby.

On either side of Harry, as it always had been, were Ron and Hermione, who weren't speaking to each other. They thought that Harry hadn't heard their tense conversation, but he had, and felt for both of them.

"You can't Hermione." Ron had whispered fiercely, eyes wide at the thought of his wife in battle. "Stay here…you're amazing at healing spells."

"I'm a good fighter, Ron, and you know it." She shot back, using one hand to tug her bushy hair into a pony tail.

Ron had moved close to her, and Harry looked away, afraid he was going to intrude on a private moment, but when the next words hit him, he couldn't move. "Think of the baby, 'Mione. Angelina and Ginny are staying behind. They're good fighters, but they're trying to save their babies." Thank God for that. Harry hated leading his friends into battle, but Ginny's pregnancy, and both she and Angelina were far enough along to be showing well, was a cast-iron excuse for him to put his foot down, for her to stay safe.

If Hermione was pregnant, she'd join the others at the shop, tending to the wounded that would undoubtedly be pouring in. Harry was about to open his mouth, about to agree with Ron, when Hermione spoke, softer this time.

"I've already lost three babies, Ron. Don't look at me like that, I'm not feeling sorry for myself." She sighed, that old Hermione sigh that hadn't changed in twelve years. "I don't think I'm meant to carry a child, Ron. And if I'm going to lose this one anyway…well, I might as well take out some Death Eaters while I'm at it, right?"

The news floored Harry. He didn't know Hermione was pregnant now, let alone that she had lost three other babies. A wave of sorrow washed over him at the thought of his two best friends going through that emotional turmoil…at another time, he might have spoken to them, sympathized as best he could with a child of his own on its way and Teddy by his side. Now, though, he didn't say a word as both Ron and Hermione came to stand next to him, wands at the ready.

Ben --- Draco --- whoever he was, stood just in front of Harry, Charlie clinging to his side. Harry had despised Draco for years, but couldn't find it in himself to hate this man. Ben was so different from Draco, kind and caring and, as much as he hated to admit it, a friend. And with him being in love with a Weasley….well, it was no longer Harry's place to dislike him, though he did have second thoughts about trusting him.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood with Kingsley and McGonagall. Hagrid was nearby, talking quietly to Dennis, who stubbornly refused to leave his mentor's side. Other Hogwarts teachers milled about: Professors Sprout and Flitwick and even Slughorn were in attendance, ready and waiting. Harry was just glad it was summer, and they were able to take so many of the Hogwarts staff to the battle.

"You ready to go, Harry?" Kingley's deep voice cut through the crowd and everyone was suddenly silent, wary. Harry looked sideways at Ben, who nodded, knowing that this was the only chance he had to prove himself. Grabbing onto Ron and Hermione's hands, they Apparated.

The sun was barely rising above the fields of the manor when forty fighters arrived, tripping the jinxes the Death Eaters had set around the place. Alarms went off, and the battle began.

Harry was fighting from the moment he landed and he was reminded, suddenly, of just the day before (was it really only a day since he had led Seamus and Justin into a trap? It seemed like a century ago…) He was moving, firing curses left and right, able to see at a glance that the enemy was much larger than they.

_But they're surprised_. Just as Ben had promised, the Death Eaters hadn't been expecting such a quick attack, and most were in their night things; obviously they had been camping on the lawn, most likely plotting an attack on the Ministry, on Harry's side.

He whirled past Wood and Cho, Cho, who had insisted she join in the fighting, leaving her little girl at the shop, along with the other children, Victoire and Dominique and Teddy and Justin's now fatherless son Perseus. Her hair was free and flying as she fired a familiar _Expelliarmus_ at an advancing foe. Harry felt a flash of pride a second long, knowing he had taught that particular spell to Cho.

His first attacker toppled and another was on Harry just as quickly, arm raised, about to utter a curse just as he was taken down by Luna Lovegood, a stunning spell to the back. "Good one, Loony!" Harry called, feeling the thrill of adrenaline coursing through him. He was exhausted, injuries from the day before pained him, but he had fought and won under worse circumstances.

Luna curtsied slightly, aiming her wand over her shoulder to take out a man she couldn't even see. Dean was beside her, his face hard, cold as Harry had never seen it. He was fighting for Seamus, that much was obvious. Harry himself had ordered Seamus to stay behind, and he had seen the look of relief on Dean's face when Harry had said that. Seamus was stubborn, but he would do whatever Harry asked.

"But I want to fight!" Seamus' accent had been made more pronounced by his anxiety, or perhaps by his recent bout with death.

Harry had pushed him back into his seat. "You were tortured, Seamus. And Justin….Justin _died_ under my command." He paused for a second before going on, "Please….stay here. Watch the kids, take in the wounded. Just don't fight. And don't exert yourself." Seamus was looking rather white, and swayed slightly where he stood. Dean was propping him up, looking worn, old. Harry turned away from them: Seamus had been on his team for a year, and they had gotten close, closer than they had been as schoolmates. He couldn't risk losing his whole team, small as it was. He would always be indebted to Dean for calling back the boy from beyond the veil.

George had found a rock and transfigured the ground around him into a moat complete with several snapping crocodiles, two of which had Death Eaters clutched in their jaws. The red-head was firing spells left and right, easily taking down Death Eater after Death Eater from his vantage point. As Harry watched, a _Sectumsempra_ hit George in the chest, and he toppled into his pool, which vanished as its maker fell into unconsciousness.

Harry, who had been fighting back-to-back with Ron, shouted to his friend that he had to go, and sprinted across the field, reaching George's body an instant before a Death Eater. "Back off!" he snarled, barely able to take in the form of Pansy Parkinson before he Disapperated, George in his arms.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was crowded a half-hour into fighting, though after a second of disorientation Harry realized that what seemed like a crowd of people was actually Hagrid, bent double over the prone form of Dennis Creevey, whose body seemed to be completely burned. Fred shouted at the sight of his twin, and Lee rushed over to grab George. "He got _Sectumsempra_'d." Harry said, "It seems to be one of their favorites."

"You okay, Harry?" Ginny asked, her large eyes searching Harry's dirty face for any terrible injuries. He shook his head and sucked in a deep breath, ready to Apparate back into battle.

He took a final look at little Dennis, at Hagrid, who was dripping large tears onto the boy's body. "Is there anything I can do?" He asked, his mouth suddenly dry at the thought of killing, inadvertently, but still killing, both of the Creevey brothers.

Ginny stared at him for a second, then said, quickly. "If you can drag Charlie away…he's the best with burns, I don't know…I don't know how much longer Dennis will last." Harry nodded, then Disapperated.

He climbed up onto the rock George had been protecting, shooting spells at the targets below, careful only to hit the Death Eaters, though it was a difficult task with all the moving bodies. He looked for the trademark red-hair, saw Bill pitted against what seemed to be a small giant, Fleur at his side, saw Ron and Hermione, taking down Pansy Parkinson, saw Percy, ganging up with Neville, Ben, and Dean, cornering a familiar, large boy. Goyle.

But he needed to find Charlie…shouldn't he be near Ben? Finally, he spotted him, kneeling on the ground in the middle of a ring of Death Eaters.

With a cry of rage, of pent-up grief at losing one of his subordinates, one of his friends, at the thought of George, bloody in his arms, of Dennis, his skin peeling, nearly gone. Harry rushed towards the group, felling them with one spell after another. He slid into place next to Charlie, who was huddled over a body on the ground.

"Charlie!" He cried, happy to see the man alive. "They need to at the shop…Dennis Creevey is burned, he won't last much…" he stopped speaking, stopped thinking anything when he saw the body Charlie was bent over.

Mrs. Weasley was obviously dead, her eyes were open, staring, blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. "How?" he breathed, forgetting about the battle, the war, the boy, dying in the shop. He only needed to know how this woman, his own mother in so many ways, could have died.

"The killing curse." Charlie's voice shook, "I saw it…was trying to get to her. Dad…I don't know where he went. He's probably dead, too." His voice had so much raw emotion, so much pain, that Harry couldn't stand to listen.

"Take her back to the shop, help Dennis." Harry stood up, turned away from the nicest woman he'd ever met. There were others out there, fighting, and he couldn't stand to look at the body any longer. When Charlie didn't move, didn't reach for his wand, Harry yelled, "Leave!" hit him on the shoulder, snapping him out of whatever trance he'd been in, and the two Weasleys were gone.

Another glance at the battlefield showed Kingsley and Professor Sprout felling the giant that Bill, now with an injured arm, had started to fight. Goyle, Blaize, and Pansy had escaped with another twenty of their people, but not before injuring several of Harry's friends. He spent the last few minutes of battle, before the rest of the Death Eaters were captured, standing over Ron and Hermione's bodies, praying to God that his friends were still alive as he defended their spot.

In the end, there were fifteen people who were uninjured enough to be standing. Harry collapsed next to his friends. He had forgotten how exhausted a battle, a true battle, could make you. His hand went towards first Ron's, then Hermione's throats, checking for a pulse, making sure, making quite sure that they were alive, before he put one hand on both of their shoulders and Apparated back to the joke shop, to the screams and moans of the dying and friends of the dying,

To Ginny.

**Wow. Mrs. Weasley is dead. That's just…that's sad, right there. I'm so sorry, little Weasley people.**

**More are dead, more are injured. That was just a bloody battle, and Goyle got away. Darn.**

**As always, please review.**


	24. The Weasleys

"_We must not sink beneath our anguish, but battle on." __**Dumbledore**_

It was mayhem at the joke shop.

On one side of the room was Dean and Seamus, reunited once again. Dean had broken his arm while in battle but, with nothing more serious than that, had found his best friend as soon as he Apparated back. His arm hadn't been mended yet and he was breathing raggedly, waiting, not impatiently, for someone with experience in healing. He let those more wounded then himself go first, like Victor Krum, who had shown up at the fray unexpectedly and had taken down only two Death Eaters before being hit through a shield charm by a Killing Curse. He was being worked on by several of the Professors, though he was in critical condition.

Dean and Seamus waited with Hagird, who was twisting his hands with worry over Dennis. "He's jus' a boy," the big man kept saying, looking worriedly towards the back room where Dennis had been brought to. "Jus' a little boy." Never mind that the boy was twenty, capable enough to take care of himself. Hagrid hadn't loved anybody like he loved Dennis, and viewed the young man as a son.

"He'll be fine, Hagrid," Reassured a tired-looking Seamus. The shop was loud, almost deafeningly so, and Seamus just couldn't take it all in. He hadn't had a bit of good sleep since being brought back from the dead, and the room was beginning to spin.

Luna flitted nervously at his elbow, trying to convince him to sit down and rest. In her arms was Perseus, who she hadn't put down since Hannah left a day ago. She and Hannah had been close at Hogwarts, and Justin's death tore her apart enough for her to choke into sobs every ten minutes or so. Dean and Seamus, unaccustomed to Luna crying, too tired from battle and scars to really comfort properly, merely hovered around her, a trio of people anxious, waiting.

A cry from the back room and Charlie ducked out, looking dazed, passing Madame Pomfrey on her way in. He barely glanced at Hagrid. "He needs a real doctor," he muttered, wishing with all his heart St. Mungoose was reliable. Now he met the giant's eyes, and said, his voice truly upset, concerned. "He…he'll never look the same, and he needs a lot of time. But he'll live."

Hagrid enveloped the second-oldest Weasley in a hug, this one more gentle than any he'd ever bestowed on the man in the past. "Thank ya, Charlie. An' I'm…I'm sorry." At his elbow, Seamus, Dean, and Luna nodded, seconding the statement. Charlie shrugged, walked across the room to his clan.

Fred was watching his twin, compassion and sorrow lacing his features. Oftentimes, an observer would forget that the twins were twenty-five, that they were long past their teens, so often they laughed and joked. Now, though, Fred looked every one of his years.

He was being held by Angelina, her belly round to the point of absurdity, she looked down at her husband as if she couldn't believe he was in that state. Hermione was crouched over him, her able hands working diligently. The _Sectumsempra_ wounds were closed but they had been deep, had punctured organs and muscle, and George hadn't woken up.

Ron was holding Angelina's hand, never tearing his eyes from his brother. He had grown close to the twins in five years, closer than they'd ever been in Hogwarts. He liked and understood Angelina, who possessed the same fire of spirit, the same zeal for life that so defined the twins.

He squeezed Angelina's hand, watching his wife work. Hermione said nothing, though fat tears fell down her face. One hand kept drifting towards her belly. She had lost her fourth child during the battle, remembered the exact moment when she realized she wasn't carrying the baby any longer, and knew she had to keep fighting.

Harry was to the left of Hermione, his head in his hands. Teddy was on his lap, and the seven-year-old was being studiously quiet, though his arms were wrapped reassuringly around his godfather's neck. Teddy was so like his father, in voice and manner, that Harry's throat would close up just by looking at him. Just days ago, before Goyle and Death Eaters, when Harry had asked him if he would like to be adopted into his family, permanently, he had refused with quiet deference, assuring Harry that he would always love him, but wanted to remain with his grandmother, who was alone in the big house, and got lonely if he wasn't around, but could he still visit Harry and Ginny and the new baby? Sometimes Harry loved the boy so much…

Now, though, Harry was talking to himself, a habit he had gained during that horrible year of the Horcruxs', a habit he was sure he had lost once. He didn't know when it began coming back.

Every so often he'd look up at Ron, would meet his best friend's eye and not let it go. So many words passed between them, though neither spoke. They communicated with each other in a way that they didn't with their wives, with anyone else. Ron and Harry were alike, needed each other on a level neither could ever explain or define.

But that look that passed between them no less than once a minute always said the same thing. _I'm sorry_, from Harry, _I know_, from Ron, who was quick to anger but always so quick to forgive.

And this was the reason Harry disliked leading others into battle. First and second and third and fourth _and_ fifth years had always found the same thing: Harry, alone, battling at the end, and that was the way he liked it. He would fight and struggle for his own life, but his weakness, and it was a big one, was his friends, his family.

Ginny did not sit next to Harry, because Harry had sent her away, to Bill, Fleur, Percy, Ben and the children, who were keeping watch over the things that made the room so dark and so awfully quiet.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood in the center of the room, their hands intertwined, looking down on their bodies, at their children, as they instructed, voices constantly running over each other. Even in death they were trying to keep their large family together.

It had been Dean's contribution to the Weasleys, after watching their grief, so palpable in the air. Kingsley approved with a curt nod before Disapperating to the Ministry, to the rest of the Aurors who would continue the wave against the uprising of Death Eaters. The Ring was being held by Bill, who had called first his mother, than his father back from the grave.

"Are you all alright?" Mr. Weasley had asked, scanning the crowd before him. Mostly children, with Professor McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout treating various wounds around the room. Bill explained George's state, adding quickly, at his mother's horrified expression, that he should (_should_) be fine.

Mrs. Weasley looked around the room, down at her own body, lying close to her husband's, and sighed. "Oh, how we'll miss you."

They wound their way through the crowd of people, saying their last goodbyes. "Bill," Mr. Weasley stopped, grabbed his eldest's shoulder. "You're the man of the family now." He stepped away, let his wife take his place.

"You have my clock, Bill." Mrs. Weasley said. "Minerva will teach you how to change out the hands. Just remember, it's always right. Trust it." She hugged him, then kissed Fleur's cheek, hugged her granddaughters. Dominique refused to let go, and held onto Mrs. Weasley as the woman crossed through the room, comforting, commenting, caring...

To Charlie (ashen-faced after his encounter with Dennis, but with one arm looped resolutely around Ben's shoulders), Mr. Weasley told him to be careful, that he had their blessing, and they were sorry they wouldn't be there for the wedding. He gave Charlie his Invisibility Cloak (not as good as Harry's, but good enough. Good enough.)

"You would have been a good father." Molly patted Ben's cheek, "I wish we'd gotten to know you better, dear, but you have our thanks for stepping forward. You've done the Wizarding World a great service."

"Glad to help," Ben replied, struck by the kindness shown to him by a family that owed Draco nothing.

To Percy, both mother and father told him to get married. "Everyone else is, save Fred." Percy promised he'd try, and hugged his father so hard it seemed he'd break the smaller man in two.

The Weasley parents paused next to the twins. "George will be okay?" Mrs. Weasley ghosted a hand over the spot where the ear was supposed to be. "I wish I could say goodbye."

"He'll be fine." Fred murmured, his voice unusually quiet. He glanced up at his parents, looking so upset that Mrs. Weasley tittered, then choked. "Wish I could hug you, mum."

"Oh, Freddie." Mr. Weasley knelt down to his son's eye level. "We're so glad you were able to come back, but Dumbledore, you know how he is. He caught us on our way in. Wants to know when you're coming back."

Fred shook his head. "I'm not. Not until George goes." He snorted quietly, shaking his head in a loving, appreciative manner, "Dumbledore's probably just upset he didn't figure out how to do it."

Mr. Weasley ruffled George's hair. "Stay strong, you two." Mrs. Weasley smoothed his red-stained shirt, looked over at Fred. "I know we didn't approve of this shop in the beginning, but you two keep doing what you do. Keep everyone happy."

She looked over at Angelina, at the black girl's protruding belly. "You'll do fine, my dear. Look after my boys, won't you? Make sure they take care of themselves." She leaned close and hugged Angelina, almost knocking Dominique off her shoulder. When she pulled back, both women were crying in earnest.

As one, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley turned to Ron. "We are so proud of you, Ron." The old woman touched Ron's wiry hair. "You've done so much good for the world." She glanced down at Hermione, now sitting near George's head. "And managed to get quite the girl." Hermione smiled tiredly, sadly. She, like Harry, had adopted the Weasleys as her family, the one who understood the Wizarding World.

Mr. Weasley patted Hermione's shoulder. "We're giving you two the Burrow." He said, his voice confident, unwavering. Ron and Hermione, who had lived with Harry at Grimwald Place for nearly two years before finding a small flat near Diagon Ally, smiled at this gift, were speechless in their appreciation. "Fill it with lots of kids." He looked knowingly at Hermione and Mrs. Weasley lifted her chin, smiling encouragingly at her. "I had five miscarraiges, dearie, and still managed seven children. You were made for babies." Hermione smiled at this, eyes watering.

Finally, they turned towards Harry. Ginny was once again at his shoulder, Teddy still situated on his lap. "Mum?" Ginny leaned forward, her pregnant belly bumping into her mother's side. Tears slid down her cheeks and Mrs. Weasley patted them away easily. "I…" She could get further; her voice had betrayed her.

"I'll miss you, too Ginny." She placed a kiss on her only daughter's head, not just an inch below her own. "You are so grown up."

Mr. Weasley adjusted his glasses on his face before saying, quietly, "You will be an excellent mother. Watch out for Teddy, now, or Lupin will have my head."

"Of course, dad."

Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry, leaning down close and pulling him in. "I never wanted to take your parents away from you, Harry, but I will always consider you one of my sons."

It was the best thing she could have said to Harry, who found he couldn't say anything adequate in return. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

"It was never your fault, Harry." Mr. Weasley said, "Not any of it. You've helped my family so much." The little man reached up and took off his hat, holding it in his hands respectfully. He turned to his children, gathered tight in the room, and smiled beautifully. "Have a great life, kids." He began to fade, until only glasses were left, and then, finally, those too disappeared.

Mrs. Weasley went over to Professor McGonagall and the two women shared a knowing look. "Soon you'll have more Weasleys to look after."

"I'll be looking forward to that day, Molly." Mrs. Weasley pulled Dominique off her shoulder and handed her over to the Professor, who held the squirming girl to her chest.

"Me too, Molly. I can' wait." Hagrid's voice boomed over the quiet of the store, the last words the woman heard before she left the shop, left the land of the living, forever.

**I'm sorry for killing them. I love the Weasley parents.**

**But, as always, please review.**


	25. Babies

"_Numbing the pain for a while will make it all the worse when you finally feel it." __**Dumbledore**_

When Angelina gave birth, it was at her baby shower.

The shower wasn't supposed to be that close to her actual due date, but it had been planned on the day of the battle. In the chaos of Justin and Ben and the Weasley parents, the party had been the last thing on anyone's mind. Two weeks later, when things began settling down, another one was planned.

The Burrow was the only place big enough to accommodate all the guests, with its expansive lawn and comfortable living room. But it was missing something, without the sounds of Mrs. Wealey in the kitchen, or Mr. Weasley tinkering out back, marveling over old radios and broken pumps.

Ron and Hermione tried their best, but the house still seemed empty, its many rooms, built as the Weasley family had expanded, were mostly empty, though Hannah and Perseus were staying with them until Hannah found herself a job.

The party was spectacular, though in that strange, forced way where people seemed to be trying too hard to be happy. Ginny and Angelina were the center of the party, and hands seemed to be permanently glued to their bellies as Cho and Luna and even Professor McGonagall tried to guess the sex of the babies.

Even Hagrid was there, a wheelchair-bound Dennis at his side. His skin was healing, slowly, and movement impeded the progress, so he was confined to bed as often as possible. Hagrid hovered anxiously by his side, casting him so many worried looks that Dennis rolled his eyes and swatted the half-giant away. "I'm fine, it looks worse than it is." Reluctantly, Hagrid moved away, and was roped into a serious conversation with Charlie and Ben.

"Wow, Dennis," Ron stared at the boy, unable to take in the discolored skin, the strange, luminescent harlessness of the boy, "You look…"

"Terrible, I know." The smile Dennis had worn just a second before was gone, replaced with a sort of grimace. "I just needed him to get away." Both were silent for a moment, then Dennis said, quietly, "he really is like my father. Our parents kind of ignored Colin and me, but Hagrid…he cares about what happens to me, you know?"

"Yeah." Ron suddenly felt a lump in his throat as he remembered, suddenly, that he didn't have any parents. There were whole hours he could go without remembering their death, but it was times like this that it hit him full force. "Yeah, I know."

Angelina's baby was born quickly and with much to-do. All the boys were hustled out of the house and forced into the back yard where they clamored about anxiously. George was the only one allowed in the house, with an exuberant Fred tucked under his arm.

Hermione and Madame Pomfrey were playing midwives. "You're fine, dearie." Madame Pomfrey assured Angelina. "The baby's ready to come out. Just push, and it'll be over soon."

Ginny was keeping an anxious George at bay. Still recovering from his _Sectumsempra_ wounds and wavering dangerously on the spot from all the fuss, Ginny was careful not to excite him further. "Just wait a few moments, Georgie," she soothed, using an old nickname from their childhood. "She'll be done in just a minute."

Just as the words left her mouth a strangled baby's cry arched into the air. Outside, people stopped talking and began clapping. Money changed hands as bets on the time of birth were won and lost.

George rushed in to clasp his wife's hand just as a baby boy was placed on his chest. "What are you going to name him?" For once, Fred's voice was low, reverent, and utterly deferent to Angelina.

The black girl gazed down at the bundle in her arms, which was entirely George, down to pasty white skin and the trademark hair. She sighed at the beauty of it and gazed up at the people hovering over her. "His name is Fred." She said, quietly, noticing just then just how utterly tired she was.

It was one of the few times that George Weasley was utterly at a loss for words. He smiled broadly and glanced over at his twin, who was currently occupying a large portrait in the corner. Fred's face was a mixture of elation and bemusement and he pointed to his own chest, then at the baby. Unable to think of adequate words, George leaned over his wife and kissed her, muttering the words, "thank you," into her hair.

When Ginny gave birth, they were visiting Luna in Ireland, and she had just gotten off a broom.

Cho, officially resigned from Quidditch, had suggested a three-a-side game between herself, Harry, and Ginny and Seamus, Dean, and Luna. After much argument and evening out of the teams, they began playing.

It was reassuring for Harry to be around Seamus, who, though still pale, was entirely not dead. When Harry was able to get Dean for a few moments and asked after the boy's health, Dean's face grew dark and uncertain, "He was dead, Harry. He went to…I don't know, Heaven, beyond the veil, whatever it is. It messed with him." Dean glanced over at his best friend, who was laughing with his wife, "He's quieter now."

"I noticed." But he didn't know how to make it better. _Give me the strength to accept things I cannot change_. He couldn't change this, but damn if he didn't want to.

Though he had cautioned Ginny against the game, his heavily pregnant wife insisted on playing, and teased Harry that he couldn't take a little competition. It didn't matter, really, because they weren't two minutes into play when Ginny's water broke.

She gave birth in a muggle hospital, with Luna at her side and Harry pacing outside the room. In the brief moments of clarity between contractions, Ginny would look up at her friend and smile a small, painful smile. "Are you ever going to have babies, Luna?"

Luna shrugged, blue eyes dancing. "I have Dean and Seamus." She said, as if they were a substitute. "And I think I would make a very poor mother."

Ginny stared at her, holding her gaze for a long minute. "No, you wouldn't." She said, her voice wobbling as she thought of her own mother, who would have loved to see her only daughter give birth. Suddenly the tears in her eyes were not just from the hardships of labor.

"She'd be proud of you, Ginny." Luna said, her voice serious, and Ginny was left wondering why no one ever noticed how perceptive Luna was before she saw white, and heard the high cry of a baby.

A wet, squirming something was placed on her chest, but she couldn't look, not until Harry was in the room. They'd been guessing for nine months what the baby would look like. When she caught sight of Harry's broad grin, she knew. "Damn," she said wistfully, "does have that awful black hair?"

Harry smiled and nodded. "And green eyes." He said, before kissing her. "A miniature me, I'm afraid." His broad hand delicately touched the soft down on the baby's head, nearly covering the tiny skull. "What are we going to name him?"

Ginny cleared her throat. She had been thinking the entire pregnancy that she would give birth to a girl, and had been thinking _Molly_ for her baby's name. She sat thoughtfully for a minute, absently letting the infant suck on her finger. "What about James Arthur?" She asked. "James Arthur Potter?"

When Harry looked at her, she lowered her eyes, sure that he could see right through her, to the hurt and grief she felt deep in her. Because she wasn't okay with her parents' death. Not even close. "Yeah," came the hoarse answer. "Yeah, that sounds perfect."

And when they smiled at each other, for a minute there, everything was perfect. For once.

When Hermione didn't give birth, she cried.

She had smiled at Angelina when she came into The Leaky Cauldron carrying a baby that looked nothing like her and everything like George, and had felt a pang of sorrow when Fred told her, quietly, that it was Angelina who picked out the name, because she knew that Fred would never be able to have kids himself. And every girl in Hogwarts had once had a crush on a Weasley twin…

Ginny was her best friend in the world. They told each other secrets and spent nights together without their husbands (on those nights, Harry and Ron inevitably went to the Leaky Cauldron and found other temporarily wife-less Weasleys). They had been brought together by the danger and thrill of their Hogwarts years, and Hermione often thought of Ginny as her sister, since she didn't really know what it felt like to have a sibling.

But when Ginny and Harry Apparated into the Burrow, a tiny James tucked in Ginny's arm, she'd felt such a pang of jealousy that for a moment she couldn't breathe. Why did Ginny, who was always prettier and more popular than she, deserve to have a baby? Why did the famous Harry Potter get a child before she did? But the moment passed quickly and she was able to take the baby into her arms and love it immediately.

Ron, sensing her mood, climbed into bed with her that night and threw a long, freckled arm over her shoulders. "If it means that much to you, 'Mione, we can always adopt." And Hermione had to kiss him, because she knew he was trying, even if he didn't understand a woman's need for a baby of her own.

So she cried alone, on a Sunday when Hannah and Perseus had gone to Justin's mother's house and Ron was at the Joke Shop. Ginny, perhaps sensing her mood, had asked her if she wouldn't mind baby-sitting Teddy that day, and she jumped on the opportunity.

It had been seven years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Teddy was a quiet, introverted child. He was the only one of Hermione's nieces or nephews that she'd cajoled into loving the written word, and every time he was alone with her she'd read him a muggle book, a fairy tale, hoping he'd stay a child a while longer.

Teddy's soft grey eyes focused on Hermione and he climbed onto her lap, his body shrinking to fit. He was an amazing metamorphmagous, his skills perhaps rivaling or even surpassing those of his mother. "Why are you upset, Aunt Hermie?" Most of the children called her Aunt Hermie, or Aunt 'Mione, and Hermione knew that her full name was a mouthful. Still, every time she heard _Hermie_, she was fifteen again, and in the Forbidden Forest.

_Hermie, where Hager? _Where, where, where? Hermione didn't quite know where _she_ was anymore, let alone anyone else. "Yeah, I'm upset, Teddy."

"Is it because of Fred and James?"

Hermione had to think about it for a second, because for her entire life _Fred_ had been a charismatic, reckless teenager and _James_ had been the name she would never bring up around Harry unless he said it first. But when she remembers, she nods, because it's true. "You're a very perceptive small child."

Teddy nods seriously, his hair changing color with every bob. "I get that a lot." He's quiet for a minute, and Hermione rocks him back and forth, resting her chin on the top of his head and hugging the small body to her and wishing that was enough, wishing that there wasn't this aching need for a child of her own.

"You Uncle Ron says we should adopt, Ted. What would you think about that?" Long ago, Teddy had become everyones' sound board. Perhaps it was his serious face, no matter what shape it looked like, or his ability to be quiet for longer than all the Weasleys combined. Hermione thought that it was because everyone used to talk to Lupin, and Teddy was as close to the Professor as they were going to get.

Teddy was quiet for a moment, then looked up at Hermione, his eyes a stormy grey. "Do you know why I didn't want to be adopted by Harry and Ginny?" He asked, his words sounding so mature, so tired that Hermione could only shake her head.

"It's because, no matter how much I know they love me, and loved my dad, in the end, I'm not really related to them. And James is." He said it simply, and Hermione knew that he wasn't disappointed with the outcome, just stating the facts.

He looked up into Hermione's face. "I think you could adopt, but inside you'll know that baby was never yours, and you'll always wish it was."

**Go Teddy. I think he's my favorite character.**

**Yes, the chapter was long winded, but we love babies, so please review.**


	26. Charlie

"_Time is making fools of us again." __**Dumbledore**_

Six months passed. James came no closer to losing his black hair and adopting the traditional Weasley red, despite Ginny's many secretive attempts to change it with a charm. Little Fred still could have been George's other twin, so much he resembled his father, and Angelina proclaimed, jokingly, that she would try for another one, a girl who was a little bit _blacker_.

Ron found himself talking to Harry more and more, leaving Hermione to play with the babies with Ginny and Angelina, talking about baths and formula as if she'd had actual experience. He didn't mind, not really. At least she was smiling. They were making the Burrow more and more theirs, and every weekend found the Weasley boys in various stages of productiveness that soon turned the mismatched house into something less drafty, more put together. Ron had forgotten how much he loved his childhood home until he was once again the one living in it.

George was suffering no ill effects from his _Sectumsempra_, which was more than anyone could say of Seamus, who had taken to long walks and fewer words. He was still on Harry's Auror team, but he now wore a look that was more wary, timid, though his wandwork was more precise than ever, as if he was trying to rectify past wrongs.

Charlie had begun spending evenings with Bill at the Leaky Cauldron. Bill, scarred and grizzled from his encounter with Greyback, gave off a vaguely frightening aura that few broached, letting them talk in peace.

"I don't know what I expected, Bill, but it wasn't this." Charlie had just finished telling Bill of a bar patron who had given Ben a broken nose because he caught him holding hands with another man. "He didn't even tell me, at first. I think he's embarrassed."

Bill said nothing, though he did glance at Ben, whose movements were slower than usual, as if it pained him to move too fast. "I fixed him up. Dragon keeping's good for something, at least, but…God, Bill, this is way out of line."

"I know." That was why Charlie had come to him, because he knew that Bill had faced this kind of prejudice. The enlightened Wizarding World still lashed out against people that it deemed different, unclean. Look at Dumbledore, at Harry, at Lupin and himself. "I wish I could tell you it would get easier."

Charlie looked again at Ben, who met his eye and grinned slowly, making tiny dimples appear in his broad, expressive face. Light danced in the other man's eye before he caught the word, "fag," being muttered at the end of the bar. After that, he turned away, cheeks aflame.

"He really does love you." Bill observed. "Don't worry. The rest of the world probably won't change, but you'll get tougher. Eventually the insults, they won't matter anymore." He harbored no ill feelings towards Ben, even knowing that he had once been Draco, had once led a werewolf to attack him. Everyone changed, and if Dumbledore, if Snape taught them anything, it was that everyone deserves a second chance.

"But how many times will he get beat up before anyone does something? I can't even file complaints against these blokes. I tried once, you know, but the Ministry 'lost' them."

He sighed, ran a hand through his thick hair and looked again at Ben. "It's not as bad for me." Charlie said, his voice lowered. "I'm big. I wrestle with dragons. Ben's so slight, and he hates fighting, even if he is good at charms." He didn't mention that because his boyfriend worked at a bar people seemed to think he was public property. So many people would stare, eyes burning with something unidentifiable, that Charlie would feel his own ears burn for his friend.

And Ben was beginning to crack. He jumped at the slightest shadow and would Apparate home if he didn't have someone to walk with. "It's too cold to walk." Ben would insist, curling up next to Charlie, who would automatically fling an arm over his thin shoulders, knowing that he meant he was too frightened of the dark alleyways to chance it alone.

"Well…" Bill said slowly, "you know who would probably give really good advice?" Charlie stared at him for a meaning, saw his older brother raise one eyebrow slightly and _knew_. "Do you still have it?"

Charlie cleared his throat, thinking of the heavy band and beautiful leather book sitting on his bureau. "Yeah. Yeah, I still have it." He took one last gulp of his Firewhisky and stood up. Emboldened by either the thought of actual advice or the liquor, he leaned across the counter and kissed Ben full on the mouth, a short, gentle action that promised more. "Do you mind if Bill walks you home tonight?" Beside him, Bill moved almost imperceptibly, probably meeting Ben's eye.

It was obvious, though, that Ben did mind. His eyes grew slightly wider before he took a deep breath, steadying himself. After all, Bill was even larger than Charlie, lanky and scarred and bristling with unidentifiable power. "Okay, Charlie," and even though it would probably cause him grief for the rest of the night he said, quietly, "I love you."

"Love you, too." And he'd never meant it before, not in this same meaning. He always felt so _right_ with Ben, and he could picture them, years from now, sitting in the same room, living the same lives and being completely and totally happy. They already were happy, if only the harassments would stop.

He wasted no time. Apparating to his bedroom, he grabbed the Ring off his chest of drawers and said to the dark room, "Lupin? Come on, it's important."

"Still so impatient." He turned around and stared at Lupin. He had forgotten, everyone, it seemed, had forgotten, but Lupin had not been much older when he died than his brother was now. "Forgive me for saying, my dear Weasley, but I was rather hopeful that when I got my shot at this world, it would be with my son."

"Oh." He hadn't even thought of Teddy, of the fact that, maybe, a person could only be called back once. "I'm sorry, Remus. I promise this will get to him. I really needed to talk to you, though."

This was why Lupin had been such a good teacher, a good friend and confidant. When faced with a problem, he'd sit down and be quiet until he got all the details, then offer a clear, logical solution, not mincing words, just saying it like it was. "Is something wrong? No one else has died. Is everyone healthy?"

Well, that was a loaded question. Charlie thought of Fred, who was so happy to be playing with his namesake and yet sometimes looked worn, pained. He thought of Hannah and Perseus, now living in Ireland with their friends there, working with Cho and Quidditch and crying constantly. She was too young to be widowed. Ben, always hurt, frightened, twenty-four years old and all but betrothed to someone seven years his senior.

"Did you hear…about Ben?"

Lupin raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn't been expecting those words. "Snape might have mentioned something a while ago. This Ben is bartending at the Leaky Cauldron? He's Draco Malfoy, isn't he?"

"Yeah." Charlie said, swallowing thickly. "Yeah, and I'm in love with him."

If Lupin found this odd, or even interesting, he didn't show it. "Love is a powerful thing. I'm assuming all is not right in paradise?"

"Yes, I mean…no. Me and Ben we're….it's really good. He's my best mate. I love him." He smiled when he said that and sat down heavily on the bed. "But our relationship, it's not exactly…accepted, you know? And he'd being hurt because of it. Because of me."

And that was the real meat and potatoes, wasn't it? At the end, he was hurting Ben by being with him. He was being selfish if he wanted to stay in a relationship that was hurting the other party, right? Sometimes, life really did suck.

"Ah." Lupin stared at him for a long while, and then took his turn at surprising Charlie. "Did I ever tell you about the first time Sirius found out I was a werewolf?"

Charlie shook his head. "I thought Harry's dad found out first, or they all found out together or something. Didn't they all change into animagi? Percy's old rat and all that." He had always been out of the loop when it came to Ron's Hogwarts years, as important as they were to the Wizardiing World. Being in Romania did that.

"Well, James would probably have liked you to believe that," Lupin smiled slightly. "But it was Sirius who followed me one evening into the Shrieking Shack, and it was Sirius who paid the price."

It sounded like there was more to the story than that. "What happened?" Charlie breathed, and Lupin sighed, running a hand through his short hair.

"What you have to remember is that I was very young, and it's difficult for a werewolf when you haven't yet reached puberty. You become something…less than human."

**Flashback**

Eleven-year-old Remus Lupin twitched on the couch in the Shrieking Shack. This was the worst part; the waiting. Knowing that pain was coming and having no way to prevent it. It was his seventeenth transformation at Hogwarts, almost the last one for the school year. After the first, he'd sent Madame Pomfrey away. No reason why she needed to witness this.

He heard a noise near the door. _More rats_. Those were good. If he was busy chasing rats, he wasn't gnawing at his own skin. But then he caught a flash of something white. "Hello?" His voice sounded young, shaky to his own ears.

From behind the wall peaked the head of Sirius Black. "Sirius." Lupin breathed, an illogical sense of comfort welling in him before it was quelled by overwhelming panic. "No, you have to get out of here!"

But, impossibly, Sirius was coming farther forward. "Are you okay, Remus? You don't look so good." The compassion and empathy in his voice was so profound that Lupin turned away, shaken to the core by the sudden understanding. Sirius probably thought he was sick, somehow, maybe that he was being quarantined to keep others from getting the disease. _Well, that's almost right._

"Sirius…" but before he could let out any words of warning, he felt the first tremor hit his body. "Get away from me! Please!" He didn't want to hurt Sirius, who'd been so kind to him, who'd brought him into a group, the first friends he could ever remember having. He and James made life at Hogwarts not only bearable but enjoyable, fun.

The last thing he remembered before the wolf-mind overtook his consciousness was Sirius' outstretched hand, his sad, sad eyes as he realized exactly what Lupin was. _No._

_Fighting, clawing, something here, must fight, can't flee…blood in mouth, prey is weak, too weak to fend him off…something is holding him back, keeping him from biting, but the claws rip into the exposed skin, to the cheeks, the arm. Blood on his muzzle…_

When Lupin wakes up the next morning, Sirius is beside him, unmoving. The only way Lupin knows he's alive (because there's so much blood, so much, that it really could have gone either way) was the twitching in his hand, as if he's still trying to fend something off.

Feeling sickened with himself, Lupin irrationally tries to wipe some of the blood away. He doesn't think he could treat the wounds, not by himself, but he has to know if he turned Sirius, if he did what he swore he would never do.

Biting another human is punishable by death. Lupin knows this, but that is, somehow, not the reason behind his frantic search. He doesn't care if he dies, he just wants Sirius to live a normal life, something he never got a chance at.

But, somehow, even in wolf form he must have recognized Sirius for what he was. Though his friend's body was mutilated by multitudes of scratches, there were no bite marks to be found. "Thank God." He whispered, before doing the only charm he really knew well. _Wingardium Liviosa. _

When Sirius woke three days later in the hospital wing, cuts mended thanks to Madame Pomfrey, left with nothing but sore bruises and memories, Lupin was sure that Sirius would want to cut all ties with him, despite what James said. He deserved it. He'd been close, so close, to killing one of the most important people in his life.

**End Flashback**

"He didn't hate me, of course. He thought…" Lupin grinned wolfishly, "He thought it was _cool_ that I was a werewolf. Imagine that. But I guess to an eleven-year-old boy, becoming a blood-thirsty creature of the night is kind of cool."

Charlie nodded, still looking worried about his own situation. "You're wondering what this has to do with you." Lupin commented, making Charlie nod again, bemused.

"Two things, mainly. One is that Ben, like Sirius, came to you on his own free will. He's in this relationship, isn't he? So, on some levels, probably many levels, he wants it to work."

Lupin crossed the room and touched Charlie's face, bringing the red-head's chin up so their eyes locked. "The second is the most important, Charlie, because this is something that took me years to figure out." Charlie waited, wanting some pearl of wisdom that would unlock doors previously unseen. "This is not your fault."

"What? That's all you got, Lupin? Are you losing some of the drive in your old age?" He was seething. He'd been ready for some unheard of advice, something that would make the bigotry and prejudice make sense, and all he got was well-worn counseling phrases.

Lupin appeared unfazed by the words. "Yes, that is all I have, and it's more important than you can know, Charlie. You can't change the world. Believe me, I've tried. There's too many of them." Seeing Charlie's face, Lupin added. "There is good news."

"What?" Charlie asked, perking up.

"The good news is that not everyone's like that, not by a long shot. The good news is you've got friends and family who accept you for what you are. In the end, what more can you really ask for?"

"For my boyfriend not to get beat up walking home from work!" Charlie retorted, angered by Lupin's calm demeanor. Perhaps he'd made a mistake. Maybe he needed to talk to Sirius, who would have given him advice like _make sure the curse you use doesn't have a countercharm_.

Lupin placed a hand on his shoulder, and it was only then that Charlie heard the front door open and Bill and Ben's voices in the hallway. "You are a courageous, thoughtful, intelligent young man, and you'll live through this." He began to disappear. "Make sure Teddy gets that Ring. I'd like to see my son, soon."

There was a knock at the bedroom door and Ben walked in, looking around carefully. "Were you talking to someone?" His eyes landed on the Ring and he looked away quickly. They'd talked at length about the Ring when they were alone, about who they'd like to see again, who they wish had never died to begin with. "So…is everything okay?"

Bill was lounging in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, watching the exchange for any differences in his brother. Charlie ignored him, and touched Ben's arm, folding him into a kiss. "It's not okay." He muttered into the other man's mouth. "But it will be."

**Review?**


	27. Kreacher

"_The world isn't split into good people and death eaters." __**Dumbledore**_

Dennis found the Ring back in his hands by a series of incidents that couldn't quite add up to an accident.

After Charlie had gotten out his heart-t-hear with Lupin, he'd asked Harry and his brothers if they wouldn't like to start going to the gym together. Quality time, he said, dodging around the real reason behind this sudden impulse, which was, of course, to try to get Ben some muscle mass and a few sparring partners.

It quickly turned into a weekly ritual that no one missed. Other people were added along the way. Neville began coming, grinning shyly under his mop of hair and saying that, perhaps, he might be able to get a girl if he had some fancy muscles. Lee followed George, and the two kept up a running banter with Fred that caused more stitches in the men's sides than the workout. Seamus was dragged by Dean, and gradually began smiling again, making Dean sigh in relief. His friend had been quiet, too quiet, since his stint with death.

It turned out some of the others weren't good at hand-to-hand combat either. Charlie wasn't surprised when Percy cleared his throat and admitted, sheepishly, that he couldn't even throw a punch, Ben seconding this, but when Seamus and Dean piped up as well, Charlie asked if _any _of them knew how to fight without wands.

Harry was a good teacher, a great teacher, but, like Charlie, couldn't control himself, would end up beating the person he was fighting within seconds if they didn't know footwork, punches. For Charlie and Bill, Harry was a good partner, but Charlie couldn't in good conscious pit him against those who'd never been in a real battle.

Lee, George, and Ron turned out to be the most patient with those who didn't know how to fight, teaching moves that had nothing to do with strength or mass and everything to do with physics.

Lee would spar for a while, feeling out mistakes, then call a stop, instruct his pupil on how to hold their hands, how to shift their weight, demonstrating as he went, before starting the practice again, encouraging with reminders.

George had Fred calling over his shoulder, betting on the outcome, but he was able to joke his way through it, put whoever he was dealing with at ease, tossing out instructions as he went, breaking defenses when necessary to show that they could be broken before continuing, letting whoever he was practicing against get a few good hits in.

Ron was the best, gently pushing whoever he was against to do better by easy praise, doled out in large amounts. _Great job, Shay. Bloody Hell, Ben, but that did hurt. C'mon, Perce, Fred could move faster than you, and I'm talking about the nine-month-old here – there you go, bro!_ Charlie didn't know that his youngest brother was that good at fighting. Ron was tall but had never put on much weight. But not only was Ron fast, he was surprisingly strong and agile, teaching how to duck and spin to avoid punches. _Remember, Dean, you don't actually want to fight anyone, especially if they're that much bigger than you. Even if you know how to throw a punch, you're still probably going to get your arse handed to you._

Though his brothers had groused at the beginning about the necessity of learning how to fight when wands were usually within easy reach, the practice sessions had morphed into something more than that – a time for the boys to catch up with each other, to encourage and praise each other. To laugh and sweat and bleed together and come out smiling.

Somewhere along the way, Neville had come in with a limping Dennis in tow. He'd been talking about the gym one day to the young game keeper and had asked if Dennis would be interested. Though the burns had been treated and the pain had subsided long ago, Dennis would never again look whole. There were giant patches of skin that was varying shades of pink, including a patch that went over his cheek and eye and nose.

He was greeted happily at the gym, welcomed into the group with ease. On the first day, Ben had sidled next to Charlie and said to him quietly, "I never thanked you, Charlie. You saved my life during the battle. If you hadn't come when you did…even Madame Pomfrey didn't know what to do with me." The young man smiled at him and held out a blotchy hand. "And thanks for this, too. I'm strong, but I can't fight worth a damn."

Strong he was. When asked how he could throw anyone, from Ben to Bill, without breaking a sweat, Ben had recounted, amid much hilarity, exactly how many times he'd had to put Hagrid to bed after one too many drinks. Plus, he was used to carrying unicorns over his shoulders and hanging on for dear life when Grawp took him for a ride. "Strength isn't the issue."

The issue was that he was slow. His left leg, which had been burned to the burn, never healed properly, despite repeated uses of _Dittany_, and frequently gave out on him. But after many sparring sessions with Ron, he found out that he could duck and dodge without moving his stance, and all it took was one punch to effectively _Stupify_ any partner.

One night, during a long three-way story between Lee, Fred, and George, Charlie weaved his way through his brothers and friends (they were almost large enough to be called a _crowd_) and pressed the cool Ring into Dennis' hand.

"I've already had it." Dennis murmured, pushing it back towards Charlie.

"I know. Great book, by the way. It's really beautiful." Charlie sometimes envied people like Dennis, who could make things out of their hands, tangible tributes to their talents, while others just had to take Charlie's word that yes, he could in fact wrangle a dragon. "I was wondering if you knew anyone else who might want it?"

"Who do you have in mind?" Dennis asked, watching with amusement as Fred took a swipe at his brother's head.

"I was thinking Kreacher, actually." Charlie said. To his surprise, Dennis didn't ask who Kreacher was, or question his motives.

"Kreacher is a good house-elf. I'm sure he'd appreciate it." Dennis tucked the book and the Ring into his cloak pocket and smiled at Charlie. "Thanks for this, Charlie. It's nice getting away from the castle sometimes."

Charlie nodded, happy that his whim to want his boyfriend to be able to walk home alone ended up benefiting so many. He tousled Dennis' hair very, very gently before checking his watch and calling out if anyone wanted Butterbeers. All nights at the gym ended up being nights at the Leaky Cauldron, getting there in time for Ben's shift and meeting up with most of the wives.

Dennis excused himself from the festivities, though warned that Hagrid would most likely be showing up. "And if one of you blokes could help him to bed tonight, it would be much appreciated."

The Hogwarts kitchens were quiet in the evenings, with most of the house elves either sleeping or chatting or eating, abandoning their stoves and taking to bed early before waking up before the rest of Hogwarts to prepare breakfast.

Dennis often frequented the kitchens. He and Hagrid kept a supply of food in the cabin, rarely trekking up to the castle for their morning meal. With Dennis' easy guidance, Hagrid's food had become edible, if not entirely enjoyable, and all the house elves liked Dennis for his polite manner and questions about recipes.

Dobby was instantly at his elbow, looking up at him with huge eyes. "What is Dennis Creevey doing in the kitchens tonight?" Dobby trilled his ears flapping with excitement. "Does Dennis Creevey need food? Instructions? Dobby is very glad to provide these."

"Hey, Dobby." Dennis knelt until he was level with the excitable elf. He liked the house elves, who didn't stare at his mottled skin and would rush around as if he was the only person they saw all day, which might just be true. "Can you tell me where Kreacher is?"

"Ohh! Kreacher is eating with Dobby tonight, sir! I just left him. This way!" Dennis smiled and allowed himself to be brought over to the table where Kreacher was eating, his plate sparsely decorated with carrots and venison. Since his arrival nine years ago, the aged house elf had taken over the kitchens of Hogwarts, leading with the madness and authority of a decrepit grandfather spoiled by his descendants. His orders often made little sense, but the other elves would run around and act as if they were following them, just to please him.

"Oh-ho, it's little Dennis Creevey, the pupil of that half-giant Hagrid who went off and burnt his skin in that new war that's being fought somewhere away from Kreacher." Dennis waited patiently as Kreacher explained to himself who was standing in front of him.

"Hello Kreacher." Dennis knelt down to Kreacher's level, like he'd done with Dobby, and held out the Ring. "Kreacher, this is called The Resurrection Ring. It brings people back from the dead, but only for a little while. Only for a night. All you have to do is say their name and they'll be in front of you, and you can talk to them. Is there someone you want to talk to again, Kreacher?"

Dobby, perhaps sensing that this was not for him to see, excused himself, though even as he scurried away he couldn't peel himself from the Ring in Dennis' hand. Kreacher stared at it, too, and something like a smile appeared on his lined face.

"Does this mean that Kreacher could speak to Master Regulas again? Kreacher's wanted to speak to him since he left Kreacher on that island, yes he has…wanted to make sure the young master is alright, that the Dark Lord didn't hurt him too badly." Kreacher's hand reached out and touched the Ring, then quickly grabbed it, cradling it in his hands.

Dennis touched Kreacher's hunched back. "Remember, Kreacher, you can't talk to him for very long. Only for a night." But Kreacher might have been more deaf than he thought, or he just chose not to listen, for he gave no reply before he limped away, towards a small door in the back of the kitchen that Dennis knew served as a pantry, and closed the door.

Dennis didn't know whether to leave or not, and ended up talking to Dobby for several minutes, his arms getting more and more full of food he'd never asked for, dropped there by house elves who were just trying to be helpful. Dobby sat on the table, his socked feet swinging. Dennis wondered if he should mention to Harry that one of Dobby's socks bore his face, or that the other one was decidedly old, and he found himself wondering if it was the maroon sock Ron had given to him more than ten years before.

Before he could make up his mind about leaving, Kreacher shuffled out of the pantry, definitely smiling, showing mostly gums. He'd been talking for no more than an hour, but seemed completely satisfied, even wrapping his arms around Dennis' shoulders in what might have been a hug, placing the Ring in his hand gently.

"Thank you, Dennis Creevey. Kreacher is done now."

Dennis pulled out a book. "Kreacher? I don't know if you know how to write, but if you want, you could tell me a story, write down what happened between you and your old master, and I'll write it down."

Kreacher motioned for the book. "Kreacher knows how to write. Kreacher will write on his own." With a trembling hand, Kreacher wrote down only a handful of words. _I know my master is happy now._

**So there you have it. So many people asked for a Kreacher chapter, and this is my little tribute to him. I know you didn't actually get him talking to Regulas, but I think that would be a quite useless conversation, with more of Regulas assuring Kreacher he was fine and explaining exactly what had happened than anything.**

**As always please, please review.**


	28. Fathers and Mothers

"_You place too much importance... on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be!" __**Dumbledore**_

Dennis loved Hagrid, probably more than he'd ever loved anyone, even Colin, even – especially -- his own mother.

He'd gotten exactly two letters from his mother since he went to Hogwarts the summer after Fourth year, after Colin died. The first was asking him to stay at Hogwarts during winter and spring breaks, and could he stay during the summer, too? The second said that she was moving, that she wouldn't contact him again, he reminded her too much of Colin, here was a hundred dollars.

The letter had ended _Mom_. No 'I love you', or 'have a nice life', just Mom.

So he'd gone to Professor McGonagall first who'd told him, gently, that she couldn't permit any student to stay on Hogwarts grounds during the summer, as it was deserted but for the ghosts and the few teachers that called it home, Hagrid and Filch.

He had already been visiting Hagrid a few times a week, because hanging out with the half-giant and his eclectic assortment of healing animals was so much easier than being in the war-shaken school, around his shell-shocked friends. In Hogwarts, he was just one of many who'd lost someone.

Fifth year, Harry and Neville and most of the people who should have graduated the year before came back, took their lessons and NEWTs, though for Hermione and Ron and especially Harry it was probably unnecessary, any place would have hired them on reputation alone. But around them, Dennis felt like he didn't have a right to feel awful about his mother abandoning him and Colin dying, because they'd been through so much more.

Hagrid offered tea and sympathy in the way of long silences, pats on the shoulder. It was late February when Dennis finally brought up the matter of staying at Hogwarts during summer break.

They had been indoors, and Dennis was playing with a litter of kneazles, cat-like creatures with leopard features and intelligent eyes belaying their magic. One of the kits mewed in his ear and Dennis allowed it to climb up his stomach, perch on his shoulder. He was laughing, and Hagrid, from across the room, stared at him, something unreadable in his eyes.

"You ken keep one, if you like." Hagrid murmured, brushing a giant hand across his face. "Da ma is dead, an' she'll be better wit' you. If you want."

Dennis smiled, "Yeah, I would love to keep her, Hagrid, but…" He paused, just for a second, before the story tumbled out, about the letter, how he no longer had a home, how he didn't think he could get an apartment at only fifteen, and he didn't have many friends he could impose on, and if he could stay with Hagrid for the summer, he'd make it up to him, he'd work, he liked working, he just needed a place to stay.

At the end of it all, Hagrid still hadn't said anything. A pregnant pause passed between them, and Dennis ducked his head, afraid he'd overstepped his bounds, afraid Hagrid wouldn't want a clingy, frightened fifteen-year-old, because, really, who did?

"Does Professor McGonagall know?"

"I told her first. She said only you and Filch stay on during the summer." He didn't want to beg, but he had nowhere else to go, and the giant was so kind, so wonderfully kind, "Please, Hagrid."

The corners of Hagrid's beard twitched and he was smiling so happily it reached his black eyes, made his whole face blush with the pleasure of it all. "Now 'ow could I say 'no'? Yeah, ya ken stay."

Dennis' smile nearly matched Hagrid's and he was on his feet in an instant, hugging the man who later became his father, in every sense of the word.

It was seven years later, and things were the same. The kneazle, named Colleen, napped in the pumpkin patch, unable to be baited by an aging Fang's incessant barks. The cabin was bigger to accommodate the extra person, and there was a ramp leading up to the doorway instead of stairs, built by Hagrid when Dennis was first burned to help the young man any way he could. Hagrid himself was older, with more grey hairs, but he promised Dennis that he had a while yet left on this Earth, that he needed to see Ron and Hermione have a baby, needed to make sure his own son was married.

"What son?" Dennis asked, sure he'd missed something, but how, in seven years, had he not heard of this boy? He knew of Grawp, of Fang and Fluffy and Aragog and the hundred other pets Hagrid had acquired over the years, but a son? A wife?

And Hagrid had looked at him, shocked. "You, Den. I need ta see ya get married."

Dennis looked down at himself, at the body that was still capable, sparring with the Weasleys and his friends had proven that, but it was slow, pained, and definitely not beautiful. "I don't think that will be happening any time soon." He'd watched as everyone else paired off, Harry with Ginny, Ron with Hermione, Luna with Dean, Fred with Angelina, even Charlie and Ben. At twenty-two, he was among the few of his group of friends who didn't have a wife.

But he felt like he had to say something back to Hagrid, who had been so sweet to him for all these years, mentoring him carefully, grooming him to take over the very job he cared so much about. Swallowing back pride and embarrassment that should have died long ago, he smiled, said, "I think of you as my father, Hagrid…I'm glad you think of me as a son."

Hagrid wrapped him in the old bone-crushing hug, large tears soaking Dennis' over-long hair. When they broke apart, still grinning like idiots, Hagrid proclaimed, cheerful even through his tears, "Well, I think a drink is in order, don' ya?"

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded as always. Ben, no bulkier from the gym but more confident, smiling and laughing and flirting outrageously to earn tips and make Charlie only half-jokingly jealous, took one look at Hagrid and pulled out a flagon kept just for him. "How're things at Hogwarts, Den?"

"Interesting, as always. Neville unknowingly took part in a prank involving a _mimbulus mimbletonia_, fourteen fake cats, and Filch. The pumpkin patch is threatening the Forbidden Forest. Centaurs have, once again, taken issue with the merpeople, even though they don't even inhabit the same environment, and demanded their removal from the grounds." He smiled, in a good mood from his talk with Hagrid.

"Same old, same old, huh?" It was Harry, bringing discord to the pub by his very presence as the sheer number of people he brought with him. Ron had little Fred tucked between him and Hermione, while George carried the original Fred (laughingly Fred Prime by his family and himself), Charlie ran in, shirt smoking slightly, an awsome bruise on his left cheek, and kissed Ben, who brought him several sandwiches. Seamus, Luna, and Dean came as a group, laughing amongst themselves, Lee and Percy, after shutting down the Hogsmead branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, breezed in, singing a ditty that was soon taken up by everyone around them.

It was a night of news. Hermione announced, blushing, that she was four months pregnant. The squeals following this were matched only by the catcalls from the twins, saying they didn't think Ron had it in him. In a gesture that made the old man cry again, Hermione asked Hagrid to be godfather.

"We would have asked Harry, of course." Ron said to Dennis, watching, amused, as Hagrid wrung Hermione's hand, "But he already has Teddy…" He trailed off, getting up to extract his wife from the half-giants embrace, reminding Hagrid, gently, that they didn't want to hurt the baby before it even saw the world.

Teddy sat on his godfather's lap, the child himself holding James. Nearly eight years old, when he didn't change his appearance every five minutes Teddy looked the spitting image of Remus Lupin, though Dennis didn't know if that was because of biology of Teddy's need to feel close to the father he'd never met.

Ginny was next, and squeezed Hermione's hand. Looking at little James, playing with little Fred, she murmured, "I hope all of our children will have playmates their own age." At the shocked looks, she shrugged, "I'm pregnant, too."

At this, Bill, who had arrived leaving Victoir next to Teddy, asked Ginny, quite seriously, if she was looking to follow in their mother's footsteps. Ginny, also quite serious, said, "Why not?"

"Oh!" Luna sighed, her head on Dean's shoulder, "Children would be wonderful." And for the first time, Dean looked at her and thought she may just be right about that. Seamus rolled his eyes good-naturedly, wondering absently if he should search for a new apartment, before his attention was diverted by the next bit of news.

Harry stood up. There had been bets as to who would be godfather next, as all the Weasleys were either parents themselves or godparents to another child. "Ben," Harry asked, and Ben stared at him incredulously, "Would you be godfather?"

It was dead silent, mostly because the bad blood between Harry and Draco Malfoy had risen in the room like a wall, blocking any other sound, any other thought. But this wasn't Draco Malfoy, who'd poisoned Ron and plotted to kill Dumbledore, this was Ben, who ran the bar at the Leaky Cauldron since Tom had gotten too stiff to do so, Ben who was learning to spar, who knew how to listen to a good story, who was madly in love with Charlie Weasley.

Ben, who could never have children of his own. But even these facts didn't block the other man's incredulity. "You mean that?" An opportunity to rethink, reconsider, because he had been, briefly, a Death Eater, and even if the Mark had never been burned on his skin it may have been burned on his soul. Charlie didn't think so, but sometimes Ben did.

"Yeah. It would be brilliant if you were godfather."

Ben nodded, shook Harry's hand, stared at Charlie, who was looked at Harry and mouthed, _thank you_, because he'd always wondered if Harry didn't hate his Ben, just a little bit, because of who he used to be.

Conversation and laughter, stories and games and bets…it continued late into the evening. The children, sitting together at a small table, then curled together, asleep, underneath it, were looked after first by Teddy and Victoir and later by Fleur, who took them back to Shell Cottage. It was so common for one of the girls to take all the children that the other mothers barely looked up, only gazed to see where their child was going before waving good-bye, saying thank you, turning back to the discussion.

It was late, or very early in the morning, when Dennis found himself sitting across from Ben, Seamus at his side. "Today, I told Hagrid I thought of him as my father." Slightly inebriated, the words came out slurred, but that didn't quell the emotion behind them.

"Wow." Seamus, also drunk, also knowing that this was huge, in Dennis' life, "That's…wow, that's great, Dennis."

"What did he say?" Ben asked, one eyebrow raised. He didn't drink, not when he had been known as Draco, and though Charlie had, once or twice, asked him about the circumstances behind the decision, Ben refused to talk about it.

Dennis smiled, slipped one hand down on to the stool until he was able to slip the Ring, the thin book, into a coat just behind him, "He said he _always_ thought I was his son."

**No Ring, but Dennis and Hagrid are just so cute.**

**Thanks to EasyButton for pointing out that Dobby is dead. I think I was in denial when I wrote the last chapter, and am fearing for my own sanity for not picking up on that.**

**As always, please review.**


	29. Seamus

_Time is making fools of us again. __**Dumbledore**_

Seamus Finnegan had a good life.

He lived with his best friend and the most beautiful girl he knew. For the couple's first wedding anniversary, Seamus and Dean had pooled every cent they had to buy a beautiful, tiny cottage in a remote part of Ireland.

The country was populated by muggles. It was an old land with old laws and ways, so steeped in tradition that most wizards didn't dare touch the magic more ancient than they. The magic of nature, the natural laws of the world. But it was perfect for the trio who defied most of societies laws anyway.

It was, Seamus knew, highly unusual – some would even say improper – for two boys to be living with one girl, even more unusual for there to be a couple between the three. But Seamus and Dean were so close, and Seamus and Luna were so close, and Dean and Luna were so patient, and considerate, and kind, and the three couldn't imagine living any other way.

They lived out their lives in the untamed country. Time passed differently there, slipping by seamlessly, easily, until it seemed almost as if they were the only ones on Earth, until they could be seventeen again, or seventy, until age and space suddenly didn't matter at all. Seamus and Dean found themselves suddenly owning sheep, then a cow, then hens. A dog appeared one night and never left. Luna woke up to a cat perched on the kitchen counter, flicking its orange tail and daring Luna to put it outside.

"Look how lucky I am." Luna would sigh, her head resting in the crook of Dean's neck, silver hair tumbling across his brown chest, perfect opposites. "Living here with the both of you."

And Seamus would nod, and Dean would nod, and they'd talk the night away, or watch the stars, or go to a pub and chat away the evening with old friends. And they were happy.

Almost happy.

Something had changed in Seamus when he had traveled the knife's-edge between this world and the next. Some intangible, soft _something_ had broken, and Seamus didn't know if he'd ever be properly whole again.

He would never, could never be angry or upset with Dean for reaching for him in that void. With one glance, the two boys told each other everything, and every morning Seamus was happy to be alive.

But still, something was different. Something had changed.

Where Seamus Finnegan in school had been jittery, nervous, a ball of energy, the new Seamus, slow and sedate at twenty-five, found a deep well of emotions he'd never experienced before. Not sadness, exactly, but…patience. Acceptance. Regret and, maybe, perhaps, guilt.

Justin had been one of his best friends throughout school. He'd joined the DA in fifth year long before Seamus, knew, long before Seamus, that he wanted to be an Auror. When they'd ended up on the same team, on Harry's team, they just assumed it would be that way forever.

And it wasn't like Justin was the first person he'd seen die. Far from it. He knew more of death than most. He remembered Cedric Diggory, three years older than he but still young when Voldemort had disposed of him so callously. Dumbledore had died, of course. In that horrible year, when he went through his seventh year for the first time, his mother had died. He had been sure Dean was dead. He watched children be tortured, mutilated around him.

There were plenty of people who'd died in the battle, more than he cared to count. Katie Bell and Fred Weasley and Professor Lupin and Colin Creevey and Coote and Peakes, who had been so much help in the new DA after Harry left.

But Justin's death had been different. There hadn't been a war, not even the hint of a war. He'd died so uselessly. He'd died when Seamus could have, should have saved him.

Dean often offered to talk, just talk, about Justin, about that seventh year. He wasn't pushy about it, didn't make a big deal. "When you need to, Shay, I'm right here."

And he always was. For that first year, when Harry and Ron and Dean came back to school, when Seamus and Neville had to repeat the year because they'd learned nothing the first time around, he'd been there as Seamus screamed his way through nightmares of _Crucio_, _Sectumsepra_, of detentions and threats and loneliness. And, that year, he wasn't alone. Four other boys bore their own nightmares alongside him. They'd worked through that year together.

It was warm. Seamus went outside to watch the sun set. The door banged once behind him, then again as Dean stepped out to join him. They sat in silence for a while, Seamus absent-mindedly twirling his wand between his long fingers.

"Luna is pregnant."

"I know, Dean."

"Really? How?"

Seamus shrugged, not really knowing how to explain. He hadn't known, not for sure, not until Dean had sat down next to him and said the words. "You know, Dean, I could find another place...maybe build one, I don't know…" It was open-ended, a free chance for Dean to kick him out before the baby came.

Purples overtook the sky for the briefest instant before fading to blues, giving way to the first of the stars. Dean stared at him, eyes wide, searching. "No, Shay. This is your home, too."

"Yeah…well…three's a crowd."

"Not really."

"I know. I'm just saying."

"Stop saying. You're staying. I don't know anything about being a father."

"Didn't stop Harry, or Ron. Did you see those new babies?" He knew Dean had. They'd gone together to visit the two, born within weeks of each other. Harry's new son, which he'd named, inexplicably, Albus Severus, had, also inexplicably, white hair. Ron's, a red-head, was called Rose after Hermione's aunt. Hagrid, bursting with joy at the sight of his new god-daughter, had been there as well, holding the little girl gently in his oversized arms.

"Yeah. I guess we're all going to have babies one day."

Seamus' expression darkened. "Maybe we will." Except for him, because he only ever loved one girl, but he loved his friendship with her and Dean more than any relationship they might have had.

Dean's smile dropped slightly and he folded his long legs under him. "This is why you have to stay, Shay. You have to stop be from saying stupid things around the baby."

"You'll do fine."

"Two heads are better than one."

And Seamus…found he couldn't argue with that.

Dawn, in Ireland, was pink. Seamus stretched and, not for the first time, touched the Ring. He'd flipped through the book more times than he could count, amazed at the stories inside. So the Ring had helped people before. Except Seamus didn't know what was wrong with him.

He was happy. Happier than he'd ever been. But since his death – no, since _Justin's_ death – something had been so wrong inside of him. And he didn't know what.

"It's okay, Seamus. Really. Death's pretty nice." Seamus whirled around, saw Justin, snapped out his wand out of long habit. "Whoa. A little paranoid, are we?"

"I didn't say your name or anything."

"Well, thinking and saying, it's all the same to the Ring." At Seamus' confused expression, Justin shrugged delicately. "What do I know? I've been dead two years. But I know it's pretty seriously magical. I don't think words matter as much as…will."

"Ah."

Justin walked over to the window, and Seamus smiled a bit. He was proud of his house, which he and Dean and Luna had repaired, painted, added to. "It's really beautiful here. It looks…old."

"Yeah."

Justin suddenly turned, clasped Seamus' hands in his own. He'd been prepared for the cold sensation, like those many times he'd accidently walked through Nearly Headless Nick while in school. But Justin's hands were warm, warmed than his own, like they'd always been in life. "Thank you, Seamus."

"For what?"

A quirk of a smile, "Didn't you guys take in Hannah and Perce for a couple of months?"

"Well…it was the least we could do after --" He bit his lip. Justin didn't need to know about his guilt. Instead, he looked out of the window, watched the cow much down more of the tall grass, the cat sunning happily on its back.

For a moment, darkness obscured Justin's features. "Hey," He shook his finger at his old friend, his old partner. "You didn't kill me, you hear?"

"Okay."

"I mean it. Those freakin' Death Eaters, they killed me. You were otherwise engaged. Wasn't anywhere near your fault, Shay."

"Okay."

Justin stared at him for a second, then collapsed on the bed. "I here Luna and Dean are expecting a kid."

"How'd you find out about that?"

Justin snorted, jerked his thumb to the bedroom door. "They talk pretty loud, Seamus. Are you godfather?"

"Dunno. I s'pose I will be."

"Cool." Justin flipped onto his stomach, wiggled his finger out the window until a sheep came up to it, thinking it was edible. "How are Hannah and Perseus?"

Seamus shrugged. "Hannah's working with Cho – you know Cho Chang – in Quidditch. She's a pretty good manager, I hear. Perseus spends a lot of time with them and their daughter Cedrina."

"Good name."

"Good kid. Oliver's hair, Cho's brains. She's already corrupted Perseus, or so I hear. They were caught flying around the Quidditch pitch after-hours."

"They're, like, two and half."

"Mm-hmm."

The sun was high in the sky. From the kitchen, Dean called down the hall, asking Seamus if he wanted any eggs, and if he did, could he get some from the chickens? They'd run out again.

Justin stood up, stretched, clasped Seamus' hand. "It's been fun, Shay. And, really, don't blame yourself. You have a great life. Don't do anything to screw that up."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Suddenly the old book was in his hand along with the Ring, which was faintly warm. He looked down at his fist, opened it in wonder, looked to up find Justin.

He wasn't there. Just the soft breeze and wonderful rainy smell of the country, of simple lives and hard labor and easy friends. This was where he belonged, with his best friend, his best girl, that baby, this farm, this country. He was alive here, as he hadn't been before.

And, for the first time in a long while, he was truly whole.

A few minutes later, Seamus walked through the front door after slipping out his window. He put the eggs in front of Dean, who was shirtless, and warned him not to cook anything with grease. "And I don't want to know what you were doing. Ever." He turned to Luna, who was on her back on the kitchen table, one hand on her belly.

He went over and kissed her forehead, running his hand over the new life growing inside her. "I love you, girl."

And Luna smiled, cupped his face in her hand. "Me too, Shay. Me too."

**I always wanted to go to Ireland. I hear it's lovely.**

**As always, please review.**


	30. Lee

_"Understanding is the first key to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery." **Dumbledore**_

There was really no better place to work than the Hogsmead branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Not quite as crowded as the ever-popular Diagon Alley shop, it was nonetheless filled with a steady stream of customers, mostly locals, and was filled to bursting on the days of Hogwarts trips.

Lee Jordan ran his radio program out of the top flat in the evenings. Potter Watch had morphed into a liberal radio program about…well, about whatever he felt like talking about. During the brief resurgence of the war, he'd used the show to encourage people to fight. Right in the aftermath of Voldemort, he'd spent hours on air, trying to reunite families.

He was a natural commentator – had known that since Hogwarts, when he convinced Professor McGonagall to let a twelve-year-old talk about Quidditch for hours on end. But he was an even better prankster.

Lee had been wary about working with Percy: he'd known the older boy only as an uptight prefect, then head boy who wouldn't hesitate to put anyone, even his own brothers, in detention. But the strange partnership, now seven years old with no end in sight, morphed into real friendship.

Percy had begun working at the joke shop, trying to make up for his turn coat ways during the war, helping George during those few horrible months between the Hogwarts battle and Fred's return. He and Ron had started part time and stayed on, Ron at Diagon Alley, the extra pair of hands that George had lost, Percy with Lee in Hogsmead.

"Ready to close up, Lee?" Percy ambled over, arms laden with merchandise, eyes shining with the thrill of a great sale.

"Oh…yeah." Lee looked down at the equations, scrawled hastily across a loose sheet of paper. George sent them to him at least once a day, usually with great spectacle, because as brilliant as the twins were they both failed at the math needed to create most of the tricks.

He didn't notice Percy leaning over him until the voice echoed very close to his ear. "I would have thought you'd have gotten it before now."

Lee followed Percy's gaze to the book and Ring Seamus had dropped off earlier in the day on his way to visit Neville, searching for information on raising crops. Apparently, the Irishman and his roommates were after a working farm.

"No." Lee sighed, turning the book over. "I'm thinking about passing it on…I don't believe in dragging back the dead." Something broke across Percy's face, almost pity, and Lee looked away quickly. "It's not that I disapprove, or anything. I know it's helped loads of people with all kinds of stuff. I just…I've already made my peace, you know?"

Percy studied the younger man for a long moment, feeling a rush of affection for Lee, who'd been on the run during the reign of Voldemort, unable to prove his blood-status but choosing media over hiding, who'd supported George more than anyone when Fred died, who'd mourned the twin as profusely as any Weasley.

Lee was truly one of the family, and it was only now, with Lee clutching the Ring in one large fist, that Percy realized this, and let go. "Okay." He said, nodding, trying to understand. "Okay."

There was quiet in the shop for a moment. Overhead, Hermes swooped in with a letter clutched in his beak, a letter from Neville to attend a wedding, but the owl realized the importance of the moment, and waited quietly on its perch in lieu of heading straight for his master.

"Come to the Leaky Cauldron." Percy murmured, making his voice intentionally soft, talking as he would to a wary animal. "You can give it away, if you want."

"Yeah." Lee said, nodding in agreement, tucking the book and Ring in his cloak pocket. "I think I'll do that." They ignored Hermes, now cleaning his feathers, and meandered through the eclectic store, getting outside the front door before Apparating to London.

Many hours later, the Leaky Cauldron was home to only Fred, George, Ben, Charlie, and Lee, all in varying stages of drunkenness. "D'you remember the war, Georgie?" Lee asked, his words slurring together as he downed drink after drink, trying to forget about the Ring burning a hole in his pocket.

"Yeah." George raised an eyebrow, because, really, how could one forget the war.

"We were – oh, for goodness sakes!" This was to Fred, who was bellowing _Odo the Hero_ at the top of his voice. Lee rolled his eyes and took out the Ring. "You want to come out for us, Freddie?" Lee asked impatiently, wanting to get on with his story.

Ben, who was completely sober, leaned across the bar, shielding the Ring from view even though they appeared to be the only ones left in the pub. "You sure you want to do that, Lee? There isn't anyone else you want to see again?" He sported the same look Percy had earlier, that strange, almost hurt look that Lee could now place as pity.

"No." Lee said shortly, then turned to Fred. "Go on, Freddie, just for tonight…" George was saying something, his voice going higher when Fred disappeared. George didn't like it when Fred left he portrait, but the only for the Ring to call him back was if he returned to the world of the dead.

A moment later, Fred was sitting at the bar between his twin and his best friend. The process of going to Heaven, or wherever, and back to Earth from his little portrait seemed to have sobered him up. "What'd you do that for, Lee? Didn't you want to see ---"

But Lee cut him off, talking hurriedly, gesticulating wildly enough for Charlie to scoot his chair back a few paces. "Do you remember the war, Fred, when we were on the run?"

"Yeah, of course." Fred did remember, because they wouldn't have run if the Death Eaters hadn't stormed the shop first, trying to kill them. You didn't forget something like that.

"Remember why we ran?" Fred and George shared _that look_, the one Lee remembered seeing in school, when the twins could communicate so easily, so secretively, right in front of him. He hated it, because no matter how close he got to the two, _that look_ always kept him at arms' length.

When the twins didn't answer, Lee let out a short, barking laugh. "They don't know, do they?" He gestured to the bartender and Weasley, "Ben probably does – Draco did, for sure. It was Death Eater work, wasn't it?"

"Lee…" George's voice was quiet, serious, "Don't. That was eight years ago."

"My brother died!" Lee said angrily, unsure who, if anyone, he was angry at, "He wasn't even nine and he was killed with my mum because the death eaters thought they were muggles and wanted to have a little fun." Tears were streaming down his cheeks now, fat, stupid tears that Lee ignored, "And I went to you guys, because I had nowhere else to go."

"And we all took off together." Fred said, "Because that was the day they issued the order that all half-breeds were to be rounded up by the Ministry, to keep the public safe."

"What does that have to do with you?" Charlie asked, remembering the order, because he'd left Romania as soon as he caught wind of it, thinking of Bill, who wasn't quite werewolf, but that wouldn't matter, not now, not to this Ministry. "You guys aren't half-breeds."

Again, Lee let out that short, unnatural laugh, "Read the law, Charlie, and you'll see that twins are included under the unnatural part…that was probably Umbridge. She always hated you two."

"We have that affect on people." Fred acknowledged, quirking a soft smile. "But what does that have to do with _this_?" He pointed to himself, to the Ring and the book.

Lee shrugged, downed another drink. "Whenever I think of Julian, or my mum, I think of us running from the Ministry because I can't prove the bloke who was my dad was a wizard and you guys were born twins. It was so _pointless_." More tears, these wiped away angrily as soon as they started down his face. "And I hate that I always think of my family like that."

"Lee…" George whispered, putting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to your brother? It might make you feel better…maybe make you associate them with something other than all that stuff."

But Lee couldn't, because, as George had pointed out, the war was eight years past. He'd long ago buried his mother and brother in his mind. He'd even stopped thinking about them every day, only in brief flashes that were somehow worse. Instead of a constant ache, the grief came in short, concentrated waves…when the joke shop turned out something he knew his brother would have liked, when he smelled the perfume his mother would have worn…

Even those aches, though, were becoming less pronounced, until what he felt towards the family he'd loved and lost more closely resembled nostalgia that grief. "They're gone." Lee said shortly. "They're not going to come back." He closed his eyes, blocking out the sudden barrage of memories. "You guys are here." He gritted out between the treacherous tears, "you're what's important."

For the first time in eight years, both the twins enfolded him into a hug, creating a three person pyramid: freckled pale skin on smooth black on more freckles. And Lee reached out and grabbed Fred more strongly, held him tight.

"I missed you, Freddie." He said, and though he was twenty-eight the words came out much younger than that. It was strange, too, because they saw each other every day, but not like this, not where they could hold each other, comfort each other.

"I know." Fred said, and looked directly at George when he said it. "I know. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

**Thing One: Yes, I do believe Umbridge hated twins enough to put them in with the half-breeds, but that's our own opinion. Thing Two: Yes, Fred is in a great deal of pain. Poor twin. Thing Three: We have no idea who Neville is marrying, so don't ask.**

**But please remember to review!**


	31. Brothers

_"It is our choices who show who we are, far more than our abilities."**Dumbledore**_

It seemed they were growing up too fast, like they had expanded too much to fit into the little creaky house that had been their home, but when the twins insisted on a party "for living to be the ripe age of thirty – well, almost", how could they turn them down? Which, of course led to the other question, could anyone turn the twins down?

Of course, it was supposed to be just the boys. No wives, no children, because then they'd have expanded past even the Burrow's capacity for tolerance. Ron had the distinct impression that the girls were going to be doing something themselves to fill the day, probably plotting against their good-for-nothing husbands, but he had to admit it was good to be with just his brothers again.

But then, his sphere of brothers seemed to have expanded. Bill, scarred but laughing, presided at the head of the table, which everyone pretended, just for the day, hadn't been Arthur's seat. Thinking of their father was just too painful.

The twins said, in their way that was both kind and lighthearted, that it seemed unfair to leave Ben to the girls and kids, and the bartender smiled shyly at them, seeming happy for Charlie's hand draped easily around his shoulders.

Fred and George were older by ten years but little had changed since the duo had left Hogwarts to set up a joke shop in the middle of a war. Fred resided in a portrait and shouted obscenities at anyone who mentioned the fact that he was, well, tiny. But there was something off about his demeanor, something odd.

Lee was the only person outside the official family invited to join in the all-Weasley celebration. The lanky black boy and Percy were the only bachelors left and the rest of the group were hell-bent on getting them married off.

"Fleur has Veela cousins." Bill said, smiling broadly, "And a little sister."

"Who's, like, all of eighteen, you cradle robber!" Called Fred, tipping back his fourth Butterbeer in as many hours.

"Thanks," Lee said, laughing, "But no thanks. When we were, like, fourteen, we swore we'd never get married, right guys? Looks like I'm the only one sticking to that pact."

George groaned, "Except we all know for a fact that you have to beat the girls away with a stick. Perce has said that there's a crowd of giggling legs hanging around the shop every day, calling your name."

"Thanks for nothing, Percy." Lee muttered into his drink, the tips of his ears darkening as the Weasleys roared with laughter.

But despite the new additions, it seemed as if Ron was still the scapegoat. "You know Harry's actually younger than me." Ron insisted, feeling about twelve as yet another brother told yet another story about 'Ickly Ronnie-kins'.

"By four months." Harry grinned.

"Yeah, and you won't hex us into oblivion. Harry's mentally disturbed." Fred laughed, launching into one of his many angsty Harry stories that were surprisingly funny fifteen years after the fact.

No one laughed louder than Teddy, who was perched on the edge of armchair. George had showed up at Harry's house the day before, saying that Teddy had to attend the party, "After all, he'll be all grown up in a couple of months."

"Doesn't mean he can drink, Georgie." Ginny said, poking out from under Harry's elbow, but even she consented to Teddy attending the small party, with the condition that she or Hermione would pick him up at nine o'clock and he was to be completely sober.

Unlike Harry, Teddy had been to Hogwarts a few times a year since birth, to visit Hagrid or Neville, to see a Quidditch match, to help out Lee and Percy at the Hogsmead branch of Zonkos. He was already showing powerful magic and was definitely more prepared for school that Harry had been.

But now, months before he was due at school, he seemed to be losing his control over his ability as a Metamorphmagus. It had started happening two weeks ago, when Teddy bent down to scoop baby Albus in his arms and ended up morphing into a baby.

He couldn't morph back for five hours, though Harry knew he was trying, could tell by the baby's worried eyes and frantic cries that his godson thought he was stuck as a baby.

It was happening now at the party. One of the brothers would brush by Teddy and he'd convulse, as if having a hiccup, before morphing into Bill, before the scars, or Fred – it was definitely Fred, not George – and was now currently stuck on Draco.

"C'mon, kid." Charlie said, and the Draco Malfoy on the couch raised an eyebrow in a way that was so…_Draco_…that it made both Harry and Ron burst out laughing.

"'S not funny." Teddy/Draco insisted, though the grin creeping around his features showed he actually felt otherwise. "Sorry, Ben."

"No problem. I sometimes forget how handsome I used to be." Ben turned his head slightly, considering his old form, "But I suggest you remember how to morph before Hogwarts. I don't think that guise will win you any points with McGonagall."

"Well, if he wanted to win points he'd go as Harry." Fred said brightly, "Or me."

Teddy, in a supreme fit of concentration, managed to turn into a totally new form, one that Harry hadn't seen for quite a while.

"Hey!" Lee said, sounding awed, "How'd you know what Sirius looked like? You have any pictures of him, Harry?"

"Not enough. Not laying around, or anything." Harry was experiencing the strangest thing…he knew that he was staring at his godson, he knew that, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that it was his godfather. "How'd you do that?"

Teddy shrugged and shifted suddenly back into the form he was most comfortable with, that of eleven-year-old Remus Lupin, "Dunno. When I shift into someone, I can feel some of what they feel." Teddy was quiet for a second, "But only if they're alive. And sometimes I get shapes. Da – Harry was thinking of him, once. I didn't know who he was."

The conversation was dropped after at, since Charlie suddenly let out a squak as he changed into an affronted-looking bird. "I thought we lost all the Canary Creams!" Fred and George said in unison, staring at Lee.

"April Fools. And happy birthday." Lee laughed, then laughed louder as most everyone else in the room turned into various colors and sizes of canaries. "And may you have many more."

Late afternoon turned to evening and the large group split, half staying in the little living room, talking and laughing as the twins and Lee demonstrated some of their newer products, the other half going to the kitchen.

Harry stayed with the twins, didn't miss their look of happiness and more than a little pride as they showed some products that Ron had invented. And during the demonstration, they all had fire whiskey. Lots and lots of fire whiskey.

The question wouldn't have been posed earlier in the evening, but now it was nearly midnight and they were well and truly drunk.

"I got a question, Freddie." Bill leaned forward, staring intently at Fred, who had kicked out portrait Ron and Hermione in the picture over the fireplace and was absentmindedly turning his canvass various obnoxious colors. "When are you leaving?"

It was fully processed at first, or else George would have objected. But Bill continued, "I mean, everyone that's come back from the Ring recently have all said that you, you know, should be heading back. That you're just hurting yourself out here."

"You trying to get rid of me, Bill?" Fred asked, half-serious, "'Cause that's pretty harsh from my big brother."

"We just don't want to see you in pain. Don't pretend you aren't Fred, we know you too well." This from Charlie, who everyone thought had passed out an hour ago on the warm carpet in front of the fire.

Fred got to his feet, stumbling only slightly from too much alcohol. "I'm not leaving." And Harry could have sworn he saw tears in the twin's eyes. "It's not fair. People keep telling me to leave and all you guys get to stay. I don't want to go back without George, it's no fun without him."

"Thanks, bro." George said, his hand playing with the space around where his ear used to be, something he only did when he was stressed or frustrated.

"You don't want me to leave?" This quieter, a side of the twins that was rarely seen. "Right, George?"

And George looked up at his brother, who was exactly the same age at him, who had worked so hard to come back from…wherever…only to be stuck inside a portrait, who was still, after thirty years, his very best friend.

"No." And the word stuck in his throat. "No, I don't want you to leave. I hated it when you left for the first time."

Harry spoke up from his place at Ron's elbow. "You might have to, Fred." And everyone looked at Harry, who sighed, staring his last shot of whiskey. April Fools Day was over, and this had been something he'd been thinking about for a long time.

"Harry…" Ron murmured, looking hurt and a little angry, "What are you doing?"

"Just for a little while." Harry added quickly, then sighed, "I just….I think it's about time for the Ring to go back, don't you?"

*******

**Yeah, it's almost the end. This has actually gone on for far longer than we'd ever expected (thanks for all the amazing reviews! 400 is a new landmark for us!) but the characters just keep coming. Except…I think they're about done with the Ring. I think they've all made their peace.**

**So there's one character left, and then Fred's going to take the Ring back for us. Thanks for staying with us, guys, we're almost done.**


	32. Teddy

_"Nothing like a nighttime strole to give you ideas." **Mad-Eye Moody**_

There was a party the week before Teddy left for Hogwarts.

Ron and Hermione hosted it from the Burrow, which had been re-painted and reinforced since the Weasley parent's deaths. Rose and Hugo, three and one and still babies but already sporting the wildly red hair that was part and parcel to all Weasley children, were hanging out the upstairs windows, supervised by Luna, large with her own child, and Dean, who was looking slightly terrified, an expression that clearly read _What a I getting myself in to?_

Ginny had dropped by early, her own children in tow, and immediately went into the kitchen with Hermione, giggling and gossiping like the schoolgirls they still were at heart. Under foot was James, who had declared he was too big to play with the babies (Albus and Lily had yelled happily at the sight of their favored playmates) and could he have some chocolates until Teddy arrived?

"Just imagine," Ginny said, eyes bright and happy. She had taken to motherhood happily, working only part-time as a curse breaker in the Ministry and spending much of her day at the Burrow with Hermione, watching their children grow old before their eyes. Hermione was writing her third book, amid general public clamor, a memoir about the fall of the Dark Lord and the Golden Trio's Hogwarts days, which were apparently vastly more interesting than most school years, given the Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Tournament…

"Just imagine, Teddy's going to school this year, and Victoir next year…." Ginny had done the math before, and was happy to share it, "And there's so many in between that by the time Lily and Hugo are done, it will be…oh, eighteen years that Hogwarts is burdened with our children." She grinned at Hermione, "Which is exactly how long it took for us Weasleys to get through it the first time."

"I'm sure they thought it was rather more than that." Hermione said, smiling, "It seems as if we wreaked havoc on the school while we were there."

"We?" Said a voice from the door, and George materialized, holding Angelina by the hand and prodding little Freddie in front of him. "I think it was me and Fred they were afraid of."

"Yeah, 'Mione, you can't take all the credit." This from Fred, leaning against the frame of the portrait above the fireplace.

Hermione turned scarlet, as she often did when she could really have it out with the twins, and the three squabbled happily over exactly whose Hogwarts career had been more interesting (got past giant dog, created a portable swamp…)

"Go play with Freddie, James." Ginny said, breathing a sigh of relief when her destructive five-year-old launched himself at the red head, the two rolling out the door. "C'mon, 'Lina, we're playing in the kitchen."

"Hey!" Said the twins from the living room, looking up as Hermione extracted herself from the conversation. "Where are all the guys?"

Hermione automatically checked the clock, not sporting new hands, colorful hands, so many hands the ancient timepiece could barely fit them all. _George_ and _Luna_ and _Neville_ next to _Fred Jr._, _Hagrid, Ron_. "They're on their way. Can't you keep yourself entertained?"

The wicked glint in George's eye was mirrored tenfold by his portrait-bound brother. "Sure we can keep ourselves entertained, 'Mione --"

"The real question is --"

"How much do you like your house?"

"And Ickle Ronnie's hair?"

"Go watch your son." Angelina said, lifting her face up for a kiss before she disappeared into the kitchen. "And Fred, you better go upstairs and make sure Luna isn't teaching those kids about heliopaths again? Last time Hugo tried to burn the curtains…"

George stood by the door, listening with only one ear (ha. Small joke) to the conversation by the girls, about Hermione's new book and Lee's radio program, which was so popular he was only working at the shop part-time, about Harry's newest arrest, Ron's promotion, Luna's baby. They talked of their friends happily, compassionately, glorying in their small triumphs as if they were their own.

And George couldn't help remembering a line he'd heard in a muggle movie, when he was seventeen and had dated a girl from the village from time to time, a line from a movie so old the world wasn't in color yet. "_You see, George, you really did have a wonderful life."_

They'd done so much in their thirty-odd years. Bringing down a Dark Lord (okay, that was mostly Harry, but they'd all helped in one way or another) was just the tip of the iceberg. They'd made it through Hogwarts and Umbridge, through all the deaths (Fred, even if he technically didn't count anymore. George still had nightmares about those terrible few months when the world was ash grey, blood red). Fred and their parents, Lupin and Tonks, leaving Teddy orphaned, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore, Colin Creevey, Dobby, Justin.

He'd fallen in love. He'd had a son, who was the spitting image of his brother. George knew the difference, and Fred, and they'd both wince when strangers and family members would comment on the boy's uncanny resemblance to his father. George knew that Freddie looked nothing like him at all, looked everything like George. There was a difference, even in identical twins.

The air shimmered, shivered, and George pried his eyes away from James and Freddie, turning fields of flowers purple with their young magic, to see the rest of his family _pop_ into existence.

He was off the porch in a second, and noticed Ron take an instinctive step back. His youngest brother had been on the receiving end of enough of his tackles to know when to cut his losses and run, but he wasn't who George was aiming at.

"Hey…_oof_…Uncle George, you're not supposed to kill me before I go to school." Teddy was the spitting image of Ben today, though his hair was lighter, his face slightly pointed in a way that reminded everyone of Draco, even though Teddy had never met that particular person. Teddy hung on Ben's every word, spent days at the Leaky Cauldron, talking over places he wanted to go, people he wished he'd had time to meet. And the best thing about Ben was that he would _listen_, and not talk, like the other Weasleys, like Harry.

Of course, as soon as George touched him he turned into a very young George, both ears firmly in place, the morphed into a beligerant-looking Lee. Teddy sighed and Harry shook his head. He wouldn't be worried about this shift in powers, not yet, not until after tonight, because he had a sneaking suspicion...Dumbledore had taught him enough about the ways of magic, the ways of the heart, to make him suspect that after tonight, whatever was wrong with Teddy's powers would disappear.

"Sorry, kiddo, I can't get up until you make me a promise." George was supporting the majority of his weight on his arms, though the other boys were playing along, tugging lightly on George in the mockery of trying to get him off the small boy.

Teddy sighed. His appearance might change, but in voice and temperament he would always be his father's child. "Whatever you say, Uncle George."

"You have to solemnly swear with all your heart that you will be in Gryffindor, and you will pull out all the stops to prank the Slytherins."

"George…" Harry said, shaking his head, because this was the reason he'd named his second son Albus Severus. The world needed to get over the lines of segregation: Pure Blood and Mudblood, good people and Death Eaters, Gryffindor and Slytherin.

"It's okay, Harry." Teddy cast his father figure a quick glance, smiling now with little Albus'. "Sure, uncle, I'll be in Gryffindor. I think the Professor would protest if I were anything but."

"You come from a long line of Gryffindors." Bill said, scooping the child up into his strong arms, barely noticing how his skin color couldn't seem to settle, how his size changed every few minutes. "Did I ever tell you the story about how Harry's father and your father cooked up this hair-brained scheme…"

Harry watched as Bill took Teddy, happy that somebody knew enough stories of Lupin to keep his memory alive. For ten years of his life, he'd been convinced that his parents were lazy drunks, and had vowed from the beginning that Teddy would know how intelligent, how brave his parents really were.

"Does he know about the present?" This from Ron, at Harry's shoulder like always, watching as people spread across the lawn. Lee and Percy, bachelors both, gravitated instantly towards the children, bringing out pockets full of new Weasley's Wizard Wheezes toys to show off. Dennis and Hagrid, moving slowly, went instantly for the kitchen, while Neville headed upstairs to chat with Seamus and Dean. Charlie, Ben, and Bill were on the front stoop, regaling Teddy with stories of Lupin's school years, of their own school years.

And, of course, there were the children, children everywhere. Victoir and Dominique tugged at Hagrid's hands until the giant noticed them, and smiled broadly, lifting the little girls (who could fit easily in his great fist) onto his safe shoulders.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." Harry took the Ring and the book out of his cloak pocket. "You think I'm doing the right thing?"

"I think the Ring has to go back." Ron agreed, nodding, "But not today, Har. Everyone's together."

"Soon." Harry said, before putting on a sincere smile and bounding over to his godson.

***

The party was a hit. Neville, Dennis, and Hagrid all swore up and down to take care of Teddy, but since the Weasley shop was just in Hogsmead and Hermione was so often in and out of the school, the party was less about Teddy and more about having a party.

Until the end, when Harry knocked lightly on Teddy's door. They were all staying at the Burrow, which had been expanded by tents and sleeping bags to accommodate everyone. Teddy was sleeping in Ron's old room, which still had the posters on the walls, sharing with James, Albus, and Hugo. "Ted? Come downstairs, kiddo, I've got something for you."

In the darkness, he could hear the boy sit up, careful not to wake a slumbering Hugo, then, "Is it the Ring?"

Harry wasn't at all surprised that the quiet, bright boy had heard tale of the Ring before now, "Yeah, it is."

The living room was packed with red-heads, relatives, and Harry cast a quick _muffliato_ before he woke up the whole house. "I'm sorry it's so crowded. Here." Harry pressed the Ring into Teddy's hand, closed his small fingers around it. "Just say his name and talk. I'll be here when you come back in." And Harry sat by the window, watched as Teddy slipped out the back door, and waited.

The night wasn't black, just a beautiful navy blue that made everything mysterious, beautiful, safe. Teddy held the Ring tight, whispered a name he'd heard often throughout his childhood, a name he'd known since he was old enough to speak.

Remus Lupin didn't speak when he came into being, just wrapped his arms around Teddy, felt his skin and bones changing under his hands like Tonks' form so often did. "How're you doing, son?"

When Teddy stepped away, he was the spitting image of his father, down to the slightly wolfish point to his ears, the dark shadows under his eyes, and for the first time in months he stayed that way for more than a few minutes. "I missed you, dad."

"You're so big." Lupin said, not bothering to wipe away the tears that had absurdly sprung to his eyes. "And a metamorphmagus! Your mother will be so proud."

Teddy grinned, changing forms in rapid succession. Harry, then James, Neville, Hagrid, Dennis, Lee, back to Lupin. Remus applauded, laughing, "Even your mother's not that fast."

Teddy shrugged, "It's dead easy. Can't be a girl yet, though."

"Thank God." Lupin said, smiling, "We'd never be able to find you."

A silence stretched between them, and Teddy began to squirm. He'd thought that because they shared blood, talking to this man he'd never met would be as simple as talking to Harry. What did that make him, if he couldn't even connect with his father?

His fears were assuaged when Lupin collapsed to the ground, pulling Teddy on top of him so that the son was sitting on the father's lap, lanky arms wrapped securely around an identical, smaller body. "What do you want to know about me, son?"

Teddy didn't even have to think. He just squeezed the hand. "Everything."

And Lupic told everything, from getting bit by the werewolf at five years old to the night of the battle, the night he'd died. "We – all of us back there in Heaven – were so afraid we'd see Harry stroll in. James swears he caught a glimpse of him after Harry died, but he went to a different Heaven."

In response to another question, Lupin said, "No, it doesn't hurt. Dying is actually a hell of a lot of fun. I hadn't seen James in sixteen years, and Sirius and I had spent a lot of time apart…of course, I'd rather be here, watching you grow old."

"I have a big family." Teddy assured, placing a cool hand on Lupin's damp cheek. "There's…well, there's a lot of love."

"One of the many things Weasleys do well." Lupin gazed at the Burrow, beginning to be bathed in the light of the morning sun. "It's good to see the family flourish."

Even the child knew that this was the cue for his father to leave his life once again. The shy, withdrawn child impulsively put his head in the hollow of Lupin's neck, feeling the man – his father! – kiss his brow, something he'd told Aunt 'Mione just weeks ago he was too old for.

But not from his father.

"I love you, dad." He said, feeling a sudden emptiness in the pit of his stomach as dawn's early light caught Lupin's hand and he began to dissolve right out from under Teddy.

"Oh, son." The voice was thick with tears, thick with a tone that was so like his own it made something deep inside Teddy ache at the familiarness of it. "I've loved you since the day you were born. We'll see each other again."

He left then, leaving the imprint of a kiss on Teddy's cheek.

Teddy got up, feeling tired to his bones, began to make his way back to the house, thinking all the while that eleven-year-olds were not made to stay up all night. Halfway there, he felt strong arms surround him, lift him, and smelled Harry before he saw him, because his surrogate father always smelled of fresh breezes, new parchment…

And Teddy, in a gesture that was eleven years in the making, performed his second impulsive move of the night when he wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, and murmured in a voice heavy with sleep, heavier with conviction.

"I love you, dad."

**We just can't get over this love of Teddy. He's the cutest thing _ever_.**

**One More Chapter.**

**Review?**


	33. Back to the Future

_"It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness. Nothing more." **Dumbledore**_

"Harry, this is my family we're talking about!" Ron was angry as he hadn't been in years, in a decade, angry like he'd been as a teenager, constantly pushed aside so that Harry could have the limelight. And perhaps he'd never really grown out of that feeling: inadequacy was common when your best mate was the Boy Who Lived, but he'd learned to live with it, learned, even, to feel good for Harry, proud for Harry.

Because he'd been there the whole time. Since the Sorcerer's Stone, since the Chamber of Secrets. He'd seen Harry grow from a gangly kid who knew nothing of wizards to the most powerful one in the world. He even liked to think that he and his family had facilitated in that.

But he also _knew_ Harry, knew him past the Wonder Boy, the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Defeated Voldemort, the Chosen One. He knew Harry was impetuous, reckless, careless, that he made mistakes, that, sometimes, the people he loved the most died.

And Ron had recognized that early, had been okay with that…with dying. He'd been prepared, and when he hadn't died, when, in fact, it had been Fred (Fred, who with George had kept the family together, Fred, who, with George, had looked after him in that haphazard way through Hogwarts, Fred, who was supposed to be with George), he'd felt his heart break literally in two. Worse than when he'd left Harry and Hermione. Worse than fifth year, waking from his strange euphoria to find Hermione unconscious, hovering, in pain. Worse…

The worst part was that people, in that time of Horcruxes and Hallows and danger, had gotten used to following Harry. Harry knows best. Harry knows what to do. And usually he did. Usually Ron could trust his best friend on faith alone, because that was enough for him. He was a Weasley, loyal to a fault, loyal…

But not like this. Everyone was following Harry blindly into this plan, even George, without batting an eyelash. It made a sort of weird sense: the war was ten years over, the Ring could be dangerous along the road. There was no one left to say goodbye to, not now, and perhaps it was cheating using the Ring, perhaps they should be giving it back.

But not like this. Not using Fred as a liason to the other world, the dead world. Ron wasn't an idiot, wasn't blind. He'd been working in the twins' shop for ten years, had looked up to the two since childhood. He knew that Fred was happy with his life, happy with his brothers and his Godson and abundant nieces and nephews. And he knew that Fred was in incredible pain almost constantly, a pain that he kept so secret few remembered it.

"I'm not banishing Fred, Ron." Harry said patiently, rolling the Ring over in his fingers. Somehow, it had seemed like this was the plan from the beginning. Keep the Ring long enough to give it to his godson, his Teddy, keep it long enough so that the child could know his father, and then find a way to get rid of it, because its job was done. "He's my brother, too."

That was a fair statement, more than fair. Harry was as much a Weasley brother as Percy, who'd played Turncoat for those terrible war years. More, even, because even without the Weasley hair he was looked after affectionately by the older ones, especially Fred and George, who'd treated Harry as a brother from the beginning.

"But we need to get rid of the Ring, Ron, before we lose it. It's a Hallow. It's use can be twisted…" he didn't expand, didn't think he had to. The Elder Wand was gone, unused, untouched, hopefully unfound for all of time. The Invisibility Cloak was kept in Harry's Auror office. The safest place for the last Hallow would be in a place where it could never be reunited with its fellows, in the Beyond.

Ron looked pained, shaken. "But _Fred_?" It didn't seem fair, since Fred had beaten so many odds just to continue his pseudo-existence next to his brother. None of the others had ever tried to send an obviously pained Fred back, not even mentioned it, because they all thought of George, in those terrible months after the battle when Ron would be next to him every night, afraid his laughing, happy brother would desperately go to his twin in the night. One just couldn't exist without the other.

They were going in circles, and it was pointless, anyway. Ever since Harry had brought up this tentative plan there had been people on both sides, but it was Fred who was the deciding factor. A few days after Harry proposed it, Fred had visited him in his office and said, quietly, that he would go Back. Then, with a burst of very Weasley stubbornness, he swore he'd return to the land of the living.

"I hope you do." Harry had said, feeling very much the villain in his unasked for role. He didn't want to send Fred away because he thought of the twins as some of his best friends, some of the few people who knew him best. He knew that his request for the Ring to go back would be misconstrued by some as Harry falling into the thinking of Dumbledore, that Things Had to Remain the Way they Were. But that wasn't true at all. He didn't want the Hallows reunited. Giving the Ring that could bring back the dead _to_ the dead would ensure that there would never be a war of the old proportions again.

Ron couldn't agree, though. Couldn't, because he was next to the twins every day. Because they had become close in the past decade, extremely close. Because he would be the one left to pick up the pieces. "This is my family." He said again, quietly. It always came back to family, to love. Didn't Dumbledore used to say that? That their greatest weapon, their greatest gift was love?

Sometimes, it felt more like a burden.

Harry looked Ron, deep green eyes meeting honest blues. "They're my family, too." In every sense of the word. They were his family by marriage, but it went deeper than that. Even when he'd been staying with the Dursley's every summer, he would long for the Burrow, for the sense of…camaraderie , fellowship, love, that was so palpable in the structure's somewhat unsteady walls. "They're my family, too."

Eyes locked, staring candidly, unblinkingly. And Ron nodded. He trusted Harry.

***

They had a going away party.

It was at the Leaky Cauldron, of course. Ben served drinks to the thirty or so guests with the easy grace of someone used to a somewhat overwhelming number of people demanding his attention at the same time. Luna, Seamus, and Dean were sitting at the counter, all three sporting Irish accents and the flush of proud parents as Luna's daughter rolled contentedly in her mother's arms.

Dennis and Neville were propping up Hagrid, who had taken over a table in the corner and was telling stories of the twins more embarrassing antics to anyone who would listen.

Children were everywhere. Fred clung to his father's legs, in a deep conversation with the person he was named for. James happily dogged Teddy's every step, happy that his favored playmate had gotten time off school to participate in his uncle's send off. Victoir and Dominique were braiding and un-braiding Rose's and Lily's hair as if they were dolls. Albus, quiet as always, had slipped off to a table with his father and uncles, sipping at a ginger ale and feeling very grown up.

The Weasleys were louder than ever, all trying not to think of what would happen the next day, the day after that, when Fred wasn't able to get back from beyond the veil. Despite Fred's many assurances, no one really believed that the twin would be able to cheat death another time.

Bill was uneasy, kept running a hand over his face with agitation. This wasn't _right_. They were basically condemning Fred to death. He knew, as everyone present knew, that Fred had been living on borrowed time, that the time would eventually come where he would have to repay his debt. He just never wanted that time to come.

_Hallows and Horcruxes_. He thought to himself. Somehow, when asking Harry for an explanation, it always seemed to come back to that. _Hallows and Horcruxes_.

It was impossible to keep Fred, George, and Lee under control. Where before the three would show some restraint in public they were now in shambles. Fireworks bounced off the walls and Lee was busy teaching Teddy how to produce a patronus (easy in the relaxed, party-like atmosphere), and was somewhat unsurprised to find that the silvery being was a wolf. George had slipped Neville a Canary Cream twice and got uproarious, drunken laughter both times.

It was Ben who asked the question that put the whole thing, finally, into motion. The whole evening, all its forced joviality and partying, was delaying the inevitable send off. He was in no mood to rush it. He, like everyone else in the Wizarding World, couldn't help but like the twins for their easy charm and quick wit, even if they'd never quite taken to him as the other brothers had.

"Are you scared, Fred?" Ben asked, balancing Albus on his knee. Albus and Ben always seemed to be drawn to each other, probably because they had quiet, introspective personalities, because they were both the type of person who liked to talk less and hear more.

"Of what?" Fred was drunk, there was no denying it. Everyone had slipped him a flask of Fire whiskey until his frame was overflowing with the drink. "I've already been dead, Benny." He hiccupped, then looked suddenly very, eerily sober. "I've _always_ been dead."

There was no words between the two for a moment, though the bar was nowhere near silent. Neville had taken over distributing drinks and was doing a poor job of keeping up with the orders, much to Seamus and Dean's endless amusement.

"I'll miss you." Ben said suddenly, and in that instant realized that it was true. He would miss Fred. Would miss the twins coming in suddenly to the Leaky Cauldron at one in the afternoon, when business was slowest, just to show off their latest product. He would miss the subtle gestures that showed that, even if they weren't okay with Ben being Draco Malfoy, they were okay with Ben marrying their older brother. He would miss their confidence and their ability to brighten a room with a single well-timed joke.

And he sensed instinctively what the others knew, what Angelina, sitting sober and sad next to George, knew. If Fred left, George would leave. They were a matched set.

Fred gave Ben a long, steady look. "I'm not dead yet." He said, taking up the Ring from the bottom of his portrait and staring for a long moment at the people arranged in front of him, the people that mattered most in the world.

"Tell them…" Fred paused, staring at Ben with a strange intensity. "Tell them…it's been a heck of a ride." Then he strode out, without looking back.

"Bye, uncle Fred." Albus said quietly.

Ben could barely open his mouth, so surprised was he at the quick exit. Didn't the twins love the spotlight? Wasn't this the perfect time for attention? But he managed a response, not even as eloquent as the child's on his lap. "Yeah. Bye, Fred."

It was five minutes before George noticed. Five and a half minutes, and everyone was staring at the empty portrait, as if sheer will could bring the person back.

Harry really and truly didn't think Fred would die. He didn't.

Bill bowed his head low, feeling the scars under his fingers, suddenly exhausted, sad.

George let out a strangled sound that was almost a whimper and hugged Fred Jr. so hard the little boy's face turned blue.

And Lee, the man who made a living from talking on the radio, found he had no words to describe the pain he felt in his heart. He remembered an old cartoon from his childhood. _That's all, folks_. How much more can be said? Could anything be said? Words couldn't describe this feeling. Words…

For a solid minute, there was no talking, not even among the children too young to really know what was going on. Hagrid blew his nose with a loud honk, Dennis broke a glass in his fist (because how could this happen? It wasn't supposed to end like this). Dean felt the sudden urge to wrap his arms around Luna and Seamus, to assure himself that they, at least, were still around.

"Hey," said an achingly familiar voice from the bar's entrance. "I guess I can date again."

The story ends with a red-head walking into a bar. He pushes it open with two real hands (hands that weren't painted on) that aren't holding any freakin' Ring, thank you very much, but was still grasping that leather book mighty tight.

The story ends with a family, staring in wonder at a boy back from the dead. Again.

And, in the end, the story ends with love.

**The end.**

**This is the longest story we've ever written. It was immensely satisfying, because we felt like the characters deserved their own individual happy endings. Harry Potter is too good to leave things unraveled. We're so sad to see this story go: we've delayed posting this chapter for the longest time. Tomorrow there will be a new HP story up, but it will never be _this_, ya'll know?**

**So, for the last time, please review.**


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